Kayak

I watched you glide across the lake

in a yellow kayak.

Your braid trailed

in the clear water.

I half expected the kayak’s prow to lift free

and slide silently up into the sunlight.

Next time, if it does,

will you take me with you?

My kayak is red.

—M.M.


Watercolor “Kayaking Along the Shoreline” by P.J. Cook

Read more poems in Tell Me When I’m Younger.

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