KITE WEATHER
I drive Miss Carr to her kidney dialysis
in my taxi at 5 a.m.
She’s 43 and clutches
a ratty blanket.
At the clinic she lays back
on a gray vinyl bed-chair
with several other liver-lidded pilgrims
who look like they’ve been raped
three days a week for years and years.
The machine reaches in
to her with its deep breathy hum
and the cruel tubes slurp
out her blood and pump
it back in purple, sterile
and cold. 5 hours later
she is released
and I take her home.
At a red light there is a city park
kitty-corner. A boy holds a string
leading to a yellow kite
a mile up in the blue sky.
Look at that, I say.
Miss Carr smiles and
lifts her head from her chest
like an anchor.
Her mouth is a taut line
which slackens for a moment,
a flash in the sun, and then the light
changes and we move on,
everything
getting smaller and
smaller
behind
us.
—from Rattle #35, Summer 2011
_________
Mather Schneider: “I am a 40-year-old writer who has been published in the small press since 1995. I live in Tucson, Arizona, and drive a cab for a living.” (web)
