Flight

Leaping, the little ghetto ones try and touch rim.
The air between their weather-beaten sneakers
and the concrete is suspended hope.
They take deep breaths before each jump like
the sudden influx will lift them higher.
Higher is all they ever hope to be.
To them the sun never sets and each moment is
forever. One day, their feet will leave the
earth and they’ll never come back down.
I hope I’m there when it happens.
I want to see it.
When the little ghetto ones take flight,
realizing the rim was simply
motivation.

Ball is life