Her Laugh

by jimowensjr

sometimes

it’s a startling thing,

like fireworks

exploding before me on a quiet fall morning;

sometimes

it’s a quiet, muted thing,

choked back by the child

who once sat beside

me on the garnet cushioned pews—

the ones with the cold and impossibly hard backs;

sometimes

it starts deep within her,

and rises like the swelling emerald sea

driving a wave

high into the sky,

then higher,

and higher,

then,

roaring with delight,

it crashes onto itself,

with all it’s joyous fury washing ashore;

sometimes

it flashes like lightening,

a spectacular display of light,

pouring over the landscape of my heart,

igniting my soul with magic,

reassuring me that all is well and

that there is nothing so large I should fear;

there’s something about a daughter’s laugh.

Advertisements