Us
Extraordinary.
She is extraordinary.
They are extraordinary.
My sweet child with blonde curls and curious eyes, a doll in each fist.
Their eyes are knowing now, perhaps sadder by the scenes of life.
Her curls are darker now, still framing her round face in a frenzy of ringlets.
Their arms of endless embraces lace with black iris and wispy willow vines that give way to leaves dancing across hands with grace and permanence.
My daughter. My daughter. My daughter?
You are here and yet not. You need me and yet don’t.
I sit beside you on our beach, my heart beating inside the roll and spill of the surf.
JuJu. Julia. Jul.
It beats for you, for us, for them, for now, forever.
My baby. Forever my girl, forever my joy, forever my pain.
Breeze on my sunburned cheek. Sun on their unshaved legs.
She has left me for the waves, relentless and sparkling and exquisite.
As she disappears beneath the rippled foam, my heart skips, my breath catches.
They break the surface and swim a few strokes, carried by the strength of the tide and their impossible depth.
They are swimming, swimming, swimming away — curls upon curls, strength above delicate light.
Do I call out? Summon them back? Scream for what was and what is? Cry for HER?
No!
She has her own tears. They flow from their own heart, salty and wise and shimmering.
Like the ocean.
By Diana Lasseter Drake