At the Fish Ladder

Heather Dickinson

Oil pastel

I’m reminded of the fleeting
As fish jump,
Careen,
To delighted boy-laughter.
Sunlight through water greening
Enraptured faces,
And my mama heart squeezes.
Only eighteen summers,
Only 938 Sundays,
And far too many lay
Already discarded and gone.
How precious are these,
The flashing wake of a salmon fin,
The peal of joy,
Lithe hands pressed against viewing glass,
And shining eyes smiling?
Beyond the glimmer of water
Under the open summer sun.