Fear, Hard to Forget

I remember going to the lakeshore with my daughter

on a weekend day. The brightness, the blue,

the dizzying crowd as we unfurled blankets,

set up chairs, dumped sand toys from a plastic bag.

I watched as she darted to the edge of the water

and back again, making sure I was watching.

Then sometime during this game I slacked,

I looked away—lost her.

Just as water seeks its own level, people

flowed in and surrounded her. For an absolute second

everything stopped, time and space peeled away.

My senses lurched, razor-sharp.

That’s a lot to remember, yet still to this day,

I recall relief

when at last a blonde head bobbed,

she, squealing in delight.