Skipping Stones
I remember
fishing beneath the dam,
bass, catfish, pike? …
(they're all the same to me)
practically hurled themselves
onto our hooks.
Perhaps it was
the full moon's magic, perhaps
it was your presence beside me,
hand upon my back - either way,
I never thought fishing
would be so exciting.
I remember
sneaking sideways glances
as you showed me how
to skip rocks, a technique
you hadn't perfected.
We laughed, kept trying.
We never got around
to fishing again, never
stood shoreside beneath moon's
magic glow, touching -
but the easiness, the rightness
of it still lingers…
For over the years
love's the stone that triple skips,
glides, settles softly
beneath our ribs, other times
it plunks, plunges heavily,
leaves a splash upon our cheeks.
We still stand together
upon that bank
almost a quarter century
later "skipping stones"
hopefully continuing to laugh
and sneaking sideways glances.
by Margaret Bednar, December 2, 2013
My dear husband of almost 24 years will be 50 years old this upcoming weekend. This poem is for him.
I hope all my American blogging friends had a wonderful Thanksgiving! I was unable to even touch my computer, but am back on "regular" schedule now and am linking up with "
Imaginary Garden with Real Toads - Open Link Monday".
I will also be linking up with
dVerse - Open Link Night #125 - starting Tuesday afternoon.
