Brushing curls from my daughter’s eyes,
I help her see. I am her mother:
I show her everything.

When her bare feet touch the sand
she takes off
after an antelope,
climbs up
to get the highest plum.

Atop the empty lifeguard stand,
her heartbeat hails the ages;
her skeleton sings of prehistory.

I have to wrestle her down.
Can’t she understand
it’s dinnertime?

Wind bends the seagrass,
lifting granules from the dunes
and returning them to oblivion.

 

Ingrid Anders

Ingrid Anders

Ingrid Anders is a freelance writer currently residing in Northern Virginia, formerly residing in China, California, Taiwan, Germany, and New Jersey. She writes novels, short stories, poetry, and travel articles and hosts two monthly writing programs at the Washington DC Public Library. Her most recent works have appeared in “Brilliant Flash Fiction” and “Faculty Abroad.”

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