By Wendy Taylor

After my husband died, my dad drove my
2 1⁄2-year-old son to the lake at Tri-City
Park to feed the ducks and throw rocks. Voices
of carefree children on swings and slides nearby
didn’t interest my pensive boy. And though
he feared the wild geese at the lake’s edge,
my dad said, He just needs something to throw
across the dark waters. So, my dad bought big
buckets of rocks from Home Depot, sat
patient for hours while my son reached
into the orange container, indiscriminate
about which rocks would take the journey
across the surface of the black rippled
liquid. They each had their lonely airborne
moment, as he frowned, flung his arm back
and released, and released, and released.

Wendy Taylor is a poet whose writing has been featured at the National Undergraduate Literature Conference and has won scholarships and awards from the College of Southern Idaho and Southern New Hampshire University. She has taught creative writing and French and has worked as an editor. Formerly a punk rock bass player from Southern California, she holds an MFA in Creative Writing from Queens University of Charlotte and lives in the Portland metropolitan area.

Twitter: @wendy_taylor13