Near the wave-pool the asphalt sparkles hot.
I grab your hand, which you wrench free,
bounding ahead, “Come on Mom!”—
“The yellow pirate-ship-slide!”
I squint and crane my neck,
catching you standing in line,
behind the girl with the
“Rainbow Day Camp” T-shirt.
“Mom!” So, I lift my arm, waving.
You adjust your goggles,
make a Superman gesture, wait,
then plunge down head-first.
Bursting up, gulping air, you
grin, goggles akimbo. I watch
you looking, finding, then yelling
I nod, taking a deep breath, watching
you disappear among suits and spray,
thankful we keep an eye
on each other.