Skipping

Rock, cloud, son in San Clemente

I missed it:

skipping.

Skipping stones …

skipping sisters …

skipping heart beats.

I showed my kids how to skip.

We used to skip often

down sidewalks … across lakes … into the ocean.

Then we stopped.

Because it embarrassed them,

and I embarrassed them.

These things that once made us smile,

they were gone for a while:

the sea …

the stones …

my son … away from me.

And the skipping heart beats

were born of fear

of lost love.

So the sunshine,

and the sound of the sea,

and my son’s smile at skipping stones

flood my heart with promise

of dreams returned to me.

 

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