a poem
I sit alone on the beach.
Buffeted by wind, I tell myself how lucky I am,
how much more time I now have.
How I will finally finish a thought,
a poem, that book.
And then I see them.
All three squinting in the sun, following their dad over the dune.
Sunscreen-smeared and shouting over the wind,
the littlest clutches a kite that
wriggles for freedom
The other two run off, but she
stays close, watching her father so very seriously
as he holds the spindle, untangles the string.
He steps back, unspooling as he goes, then nods
to her to release her grasp: it’s time.
They could be mine.
So many years ago,
On a beach like this one
On a day with wind and sun
We taught them how to fly
I blink,
and the kite shimmies and dives high above us,
a yellow diamond dancing in a sky of blue.
It is all so perfect and so beautiful
A sob escapes me
And then a laugh;
The little one now holds the spindle, her feet planted,
her hand steady on the string like an old pro.
He stands behind her, just in case
But it’s clear she doesn’t need him
This is right. This is the order of things.
I brush the sand from my palms,
and stand to go home to my quiet house.
The father waves; a greeting and a goodbye,
and something else, too. We both know:
It was time.
If my writing moved you, please consider clicking the clapping symbol below (the more you click, the more you clap) and sharing. Thank you! ~MPM