A Small Boy’s Helium Balloon

A perpetual dreamer;

My head nearly always,

“In the clouds.”

 

Up, up, and away I’d fly,

Seeking and soaring,

To some amazing spiritual heights,

 

Once releasing,

Little buried chunks of past lies,

There was nothing to hold me back…

 

Then dirty, messy,

Sometimes ugly and chaotic,

Raw, real and wonderful,

 

“MOTHERHOOD,”

 

Brought me back down to earth,

Tethering me to my humanity,

 

Like a helium balloon,

Held tightly in the fist,

Of a small boy;

 

Keeping me from crashing,

And burning, into the sun.

 

Now heaven walks with me,

As I walk beside,

My sweet and precious son.

 

-Gilda Patricia