We
skipped stones at the
pond down the road.
I still just heave them into the water--
I can't hook my arm,
I can't send the stones sailing
level across the water
until they make contact with the
surface tension
and bounce along until sinking
but I was happy to watch
you
as you sent the stones across
breaking the tension
We skipped stones at the pond down the road.
I haven't skipped stones since I was a child,
standing at a vernal pool that appeared
in the field behind my housing development.
I would skip stones with a boy named Derrick.
We were twelve--my first real crush
and we'd skip stones, until the day
his family flew back across the Atlantic to Limerick
and I first recognized
disapointment.
Now, twelve years later
the uninformed hope of a twelve-year-old
now (if slightly) understood better
comes breaking in waves over me
as you hold my hand
brake the surface tension
kissing in the fading light.
The wind on the surface
brought small waves lapping at our feet.