Remember when we skipped everywhere?
Arms moving like counterpoint melodies,
knees rising, pedaling air,
ponytails swinging, whipping our backs,
slapping our faces.
Bouncing along concrete squares
cautious to never land on a crack
(even on days when we cared little for mother).
Skipping swiftly, our bodies lifting from earth,
repeating that singular sensation, that beat of a second
when we were suspended in space—
no longer rising, not yet falling.
So light, so light.
Merna Dyer Skinner writes poetry and personal essays when she is not working as a communications consultant, helping people overcome their fear of public speaking and preparing authors for media tours. Her business articles have appeared in national publications, and her first published poems are forthcoming in the literary journals MiPOesias and Mojave River Review. She will also be attending this summer’s Squaw Valley Poetry Workshop with Robert Haas. She lives in Venice, California with her sixth rescue dog, Sophie.