My fingers found something that tickled a memory,
not the change I was searching for in my pocket.
Smooth inside a curve
half the size of a thumbprint,
Blue eyes squinting against the more than misty rain, as he hands me
broken, smoothed by waves,
with a sweet, “Here you go!”
There is one in his pocket, too.
A late afternoon on a beach, traffic high above on the bridge, ships out in the bay.
Just the two of us.
Quiet, alone, together,
And laughing despite the cold and wet and sand in our shoes.
My day seemed better.
(Apparently it’s National Poetry Month in the US. Thought I’d try my hand at it!)