This Yellow Balloon
This yellow balloon could be
the unfolding of our emptiness,
the consummated edge of bliss
turning happily towards the sun.
This yellow balloon rises
silently without helium,
tied to stop oxygen
and all that is decay.
This yellow balloon could
symbolize our baby,
the fetus warm and protected,
the yoke and juices flowing.
This yellow balloon sits
waiting for tomorrow while we
sit quietly in the darkness
waiting for a light.
This yellow balloon floats
peacefully down the street
bouncing against landmarks
it bruises too easily.
This yellow balloon, aging, sallow
in its simplicity, comes to nothing
but in a moment it will echo our
needs in touching.
This yellow balloon, say good-bye
as it leaks slowly in a corner
hovering gently
with one small sigh it tears.
Caroline Johnson
Caroline Johnson has two poetry chapbooks, Where the Street Ends and My Mother’s Artwork, and has published poetry in DuPage Valley Review, Chicago Tribune, The Quotable, and others. She is President of Poets and Patrons of Chicago and is a community college English teacher.