Summer Holidays are here
The echoing slam of the door reverberates
My ten year old’s schoolbag hits the hall floor
He stands tall and strong
“Ready for Donegal and the caravan Mum?”
. For him
Shrieking seagulls dip their wings in the frothy foam of a fresh flood tide
Laid out like a bride’s lacy veil on moist golden sand
My son sees none of this.
His feet are racing away from me
The thrill of adventure gripping him
Agile as a mountain goat he climbs the sheer cliff face.
His mind set is on jumping from its highest peak
Body arched he flips into the Atlantic Ocean far below
Its turquoise eye tracks his descent impassionedly
He hit the sea with a victorious shout
Disappears beneath its swelling foam
From behind the fingers covering my eyes
Frightening seconds slide past.
The cries of the sea fowl is loud, plaintive
My breath stills in my breast
Will he come up from beneath
Then, hair plastered against his skull
His heads parts the heaving swell
Breath returns to my starved lungs
Bobbing like a cork on the swell of a breaker
The sea’s buoyancy carried him towards me
And safety
His wet triumphant footsteps trample over
The delicate edging of the sandy bride’s veil
For my son summer has come
Gemma Hill Dec 2016 ©
Gemma Hill Writeyou Writeme 