Member-only story
Skipping Stones
a poem about skipping stones
It is somewhat like skipping stones
Across the river.
First you find a stone that knows your hand
With its weight and curve,
One solid and smooth and round.
Stance is important here;
An even base to ease the movement of the wrist,
The fingers curled just so.
It isn’t a throwing motion you make
But more a holding back of hand and muscle
To balance the spin of your release.
You watch then,
Counting with breath held,
Measuring the distance and the speed.
With practice this becomes routine,
A gesture you make to amuse,
So many skims across the surface
That never disturb the liquid swell.
Sometimes though, you make a mistake.
The wrist weakens, the foot shifts
And the stone slices hard into the water,
Crying out in waves that lengthen from shore to shore.
__________
Copyright 2009 Marguerite Floyd all rights reserved
This poem first appeared in Everyone’s Daughter, 2009
