Night Moves
       

We leave out
through the back gate,
past the old barn,
straightaway into the woods.

I watch as you run
rock paths and deer tracks,
hollows moist and smoky
in the morning sun.

I don't yell at you even once
for not staying on the trails,
sliding down on your backside,
stomping in the creek.

Bits of leaf and pine needle
hitchhike in your hair.
You stop to point out a wildflower
and make up stories

about the way trees shape a forest.
Red squirrels scatter.
We both get wet under the waterfall.
I lift a hand to block the sun

and I am falling weightless,
landing hard, the bedside lamp
reminds me you are a soldier now,
and the battle for Kandahar drags on.

In that space between breaths,
my fingers reach out,
comb leaf bits
from your soft boy hair.

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Copyright © 2020 Kari Gunter-Seymour All rights reserved
from Serving
Crisis Chronicles Press
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission