Rey

She is a strong, slender thing
hitting wiffle ball line drives
chasing the boys with a hose
living yearlong on this lake
where wealthy people summer.
I search her face for the future
wondering—fearful as she is not
of the ways we knock down kids.
A mighty child is never poor
but she will learn it someday;
may the God of lakes and baseballs
preserve her fire spirit all the while.
“Go get them, Rey,” I say, handing her
a bucket to soak the boys—she turns
to see who said her name, and I
repeat it, with infinite meaning.






June 2019
On vacation at Gina’s family lake house, the neighborhood kids came across the backyard to play. One of them achingly reminds me of the wiry, smart mouthed, hard nosed little girls I feared and worshipped growing up; I wonder who those people are today, and if the world has wasted its chance on them.