About the Bubbles
She was so damn serious
about the bubbles.
The partnership
of the soap,
the wand
and her breath,
conspiring in a sort of magic.
This was the shape of her celebration.
While a band played,
soldiers marched,
flags danced,
and rockets popped in the familiar colors of the day,
it was the bubbles
that called her.
Took part of her
with the sacred sound of her breath.
Into a sky rising with others,
filled with other breaths,
becoming one vast and perfect bubble
that quietly went its way, floating like a gift
above her little town.
On the fourth day,
of the seventh month,
of her eighth year.
And why she was so damn serious
about the bubbles.