After the Fiesta

Some things are left here:
Bright confetti spilled on the hard ground,as if by mistake.
There is a lonely, inflated balloon near the
spot where the stage used to be. The remains of
candied apples are peeking out of hiding places.
A solitary chair is waiting for someone.
A forgotten teddy bear lies on its side. Its face
is noticeably askew - testifying to rampage, to
carelessness.
And there is a boy of eight, standing in the middle of it all,
whose mouth is open with wonder.
He thinks it is a battlefield and believes that he has seen glory.
Already, he has forgotten how the
place looked like some nights before. He does not
recall the parades, the whirlwind happiness, the
clowns who cried : step right up and you will see
the miracle of your life. He would rather forget them all.
He prefers the debris that laughter leaves.
It reminds him that he aches when he is bruised.
Suddenly, he hears music that he cannot place.
He makes a sidestep into a remembered dance.
The tune that he carries, which for a moment sustains him,
guides him years afterwards.
Still, he does not remember where he heard it first.