It’s not unusual to find old balloons when we walk on the beach. What was once bright and shiny, filled with Helium and lifted aloft in celebration becomes a beach hazard. Danger for sea creatures and birds, eventually becoming micro plastics that endanger us all. And while we find these damaged symbols of festivity along the shore, I always wonder where their journey began. Do they escape from backyards? Bob out of car windows? Escape from the small hands that delight in these bouncing beauties?
My poem today tries to capture that dichotomy in words…along with the photo of the mylar balloon we found onshore today.
a bright smile against the blue sky
a breath of air
becomes lighter than air
drifting upward, dancing with the breeze.
it takes flight, escaping bonds
dropping lower and lower
caught by the sea
plucked from the shore