P R I M E R
Today is her fourth.
We light the candles together
against a clear, blue sky.
A white buoy rises and falls in the distance.
The wind takes the flames while she is looking away,
pointing to the clouds
heading down to the water
leaving tiny footprints in the sand like echoes,
and for a moment I lose her to the waves.
She bends down to meet the sea at her feet.
She tries to lift it with her arms
as she squints into the sun
cheeks flushed of rose
gulls hanging in the wind
like paper planes.
She turns back to me, and smiles.
She doesn't notice the sea takes it's taste
But it's too soon for this.
Joy will never be simple.
There will be candles again.
Yes, again there will be moments
when all she will need
are a breath, and a wish.
O daughter, the sea is tender and cruel.
It will hold you.
It will slip through your fingers.