Two heart-shaped balloons
she has to sell. One she wants
to keep for herself.

They will soon be gone
for a rupee to a boy in a car,
but she wishes to see them fly-

lift with warm winds, drift
from here to there
before they rise.

Little fingers tighten their grip
fuzzy hair entangle
with strings.
Shadows age on her small face.

If unsold tonight
they would deflate
and douse the sparkle in her eyes.