Day 1,055

The children are told
they can’t fly their kites.
Paper kites, kites
they have made, painted,
colored with crayons.
Kites that drifted free
in the sky, tethered
only by string. Forbidden.
Punishable. To be grounded
permanently. Never
to float again
in the bright blue air.
Children who can barely eat.
Whose siblings lack formula, diapers.
Whose schools have been shuttered.
Destroyed. Exploded. Children
who despite everything
have fashioned these kites
from what they could find:
do the occupiers believe
they can stop them from playing?
From rising into the air
with their voices, if not these kites?