some thoughts on flying

With his lungs in his backpack, Marcos set out for adventure.
In his back yard, a small rainforest in south central.

I have found a sweet sad beauty. I have found a sweet sad song.
The birds are crying for the little boy who would come to their tree
Watch them grow.

Beauty is the back yard in South LA where Marcos used to play.
Like a bouquet too big for a vase the green of his backyard burst against the sky.

His teacher set books and worksheets in front of him to learn from, but his back yard was his favorite thing to study.

Quickly this little boy had his teacher wrapped around his finger. she too stood entranced by the birds and their seasons. She turned his desires into science projects, and history lessons. This boy didn’t need math.

Math counts years. A useless thing for boy who would never need more than his fingers and toes to count his age. A useless thing for a boy who would sleep through the 100 hail mary's weeped and wailed at his funeral. The birds were not so useless. They taught him to fly.

He flew away on Valentine's Day.