Don’t let go

I can’t grip the tape like you,

grind the wheels or turn the tail.

You defy gravity like Ollies

while I cling to your hand,

afraid to pop the board skyward

like an acorn climbing back into the trees.

But I fear nothing, like skydiving instructors

making a living off falling, if you hold my hands

like the railing off a grand staircase,

ushering me to the ball.

A series of moments are all I take

before I slowly peel my fingers from your arms,

a baby bird dropping from the nest,

the mother crossing her fingers

as the child learns to fall,

The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

learns to use her homegrown wings.

It’s slow like breathing,

but I rumble, skating along

painted sidewalk lines like a train

finding the comfort of rails.

Grab a board and join me,

hold my hand as we float across,

hearts kickflipping like thirteen-year-old olympians.

Uncharted

Roll me the parallel plotter

and draw an unwavering line

from us to a point of departure

winking on the horizon.

Draw hundreds of lines,

all intent on completing a dozen trips

around the world like Phileas Verne.

We’ll determine our bearing

by the speed of our hearts.

Pull me outside of myself,

out of the ship, out of the sea,

to the ancient tombs of books

you thrive in like a raider,

pillaging the best words and phrases

and reworking them into something new.

Put the pen in my hand

and lead me into the deep waters,

no longer uncharted.