So Fingertips Kiss


Five kids, eight years: Then
one June day my wife shouts
to me on the mower
roaring in the yard:
“I’ve had enough.”
And like a ballerina,
she rises on one foot, sole
of the other foot firm
against her knee.
With arms overhead
so fingertips kiss,
she smiles,
and lifts like a ‘copter
into the air,
clears the garage
and keeps rising.
I can do nothing now
but applaud
and be proud.
As if at the ballet,
I clap from the mower
and await the explosion
as she hits the sun.
Donal Mahoney

If you have any comments on this poem, Donal Mahoney would be pleased to hear them.

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