We’ve gone to fly our lights but I 
can’t quite get it right: I don’t know 
what to do with my hands. 

I watch the boy running and jumping, saying hello to the pigeons. 

He stops and starts, 
Beside us his sisters laugh: music. 

The paper birds flutter in triumph 
weaving between cardboard dragons 
“You can’t catch me,” they say. 

The wind dances through seas of grass, 
paragliders wave from above. 

There are things I wish I knew how to say to you and 
I don’t know what to do with my hands 

There are places I want to resurrect: 
windswept clearings where I watched lizards dart out of my sister’s hands
the banks of the water and the sound of horses. 

To sit on the concrete banks and watch the river flow 
the tree at the bottom of the church steps

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tania jaramillo is a writer and poet whose work has appeared in hobart, dreck and parcel magazine. they are just getting started.