(Kennedy’s Balloons)
Kennedy’s grip on the ribbons was tight,
A bundle of dreams in the carnival night.
With Mom by her side and her friends in a spin,
She laughed as the moon tried joinin’ in.
Up, up she floated past lanterns and trees,
Through cotton-candy clouds and a peppermint breeze.
The stars gave her stickers, the moon sang a tune,
She danced with a rabbit on a bubble-shaped moon.
She drifted through giggles the clouds seemed to keep,
Where marshmallow mountains rose soft, round, and steep.
A flock of bright fireflies twirled in a ring,
And taught her the secret of glowing mid‑spring.
Then whooshed by a breeze made of blueberry pie,
She tumbled and cartwheeled across the high sky.
A parade of sky-whales swam slow, side by side,
Letting Kennedy surf on their backs as they glided.
She floated through castles made purely of light,
Where daydreams and doodles came dancing in flight.
A kite made of laughter zipped past with a cheer,
And she chased it through colors that don’t exist here.
But the laughter grew quiet, the sparkle grew dim,
She missed her mom’s voice and the hug tucked within.
So she whispered “I love you,” then made up her mind,
And popped one balloon, leaving stardust behind.
With the first little pop, a warm memory flew,
Mom brushing her hair in the soft morning dew.
A hum, a kiss, a “ready, my girl?”
The sky shimmered gold in a comforting swirl.
The next balloon burst with a whisper of light,
Mom laughing so hard on that wild wagon ride night.
Kennedy giggled — she could almost hear
That laugh that could chase away any fear.
Another balloon drifted, then poofed into air,
Revealing Mom’s hands tying bows in her hair.
A bedtime story, a snuggle so tight,
The memory glowed like a lantern in night.
She popped one more gently — a soft, glowing scene:
Mom dancing with her in the kitchen’s warm sheen.
Bare feet on tile, music low and sweet,
Kennedy swayed to the remembered beat.
Balloon after balloon, each memory spun,
And the sky slowly lowered her, one by one.
The stars waved goodbye, the moon dimmed its glow,
As Kennedy drifted to the world down below.
And when the last balloon slipped from her small, brave fist,
She drifted to earth in a soft, swirling mist.
Mom hugged her so tight in a moment she’d missed,
And Kennedy sighed, “This is home… this is bliss.” 🩷
