Lasting Bubbles
by Odin Roark

How small the funnel then,
my breath sending circles
left,
right,
high.

Blow, mother said.

The colors, like rainbows,
floated tiny dreams skyward,
popping ever so gently.

Time passed.

With a big boy's hollowed out ping pong paddle,
I ran in circles,
holding firm the maker,
trailing fantasies aglow,
a bigger ring of joy,
a magical super wand
making daydreams float even higher and greater.

Time made me older.

My own son's first exposure
as he lay atop the grass,
beaming,
giggling,
staring,
as I too passed on lineage of joy,
blowing all things pretended skyward.

Thoughts embraced my adulthood,
hovering reveries forever seductive,
launching even bigger bubbles destined to pop,
becoming but yesterday's perceptions.

Today…

My pillow drenched with fatigue,
my temperature rising,
my breathing unsure.

I watched a fevered ending ever present
A father still bringing smiles to my sorrow
as memory set afloat glittering images for me,
for my dreams not yet burst,
for my childhood memories.

For that time when
bubbles were like magic,
as they floated away into…

So long ago.