2021-07-13T13:52:21-07:00July 11th, 2021|Parenthood|

Passing gifts

The ocean delivered
a perfect raft yesterday.

Flat, wide, long enough
so you and all your friends
could stand on it
and pretend you were paddling
to new lands.

Before we left,
we used rope
and tied it to another log.

I can’t wait to play
on my raft tomorrow, you said.

I knew that was our mistake,
letting you believe the tide exhales
gifts you can keep.

And the ocean did
what it always does,

it retreated that night
with a million pounds
of seaweed and stones,
your massive raft on its skin,
as light as lint.

The next day
you cried and cried
and then the ocean did
what it always does,

it crawled towards us again,
bringing another log,
another gift,
one end all bunched up
with a tangle of roots
and you said, in awe,

Look mama, the ocean
wrapped this one
with a bow.

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