Day 23 #NaPoWriMo2012

33.

I helped my daughter
line up small white stones
she’d gathered.
Every night
I’d reach into her pockets
and out would come
one rock, two stones,
one pure white, pointy
one ribboned with green
that one with a rusty tip.
She kept them near her bed
She washed them like
laundry, scouring them clean
laying them on the soft grass
to bleach in the sun.
Today, there are twenty-three
twenty-three glinty white stones
She asked if I would put
some in my pockets
and she’d take the rest
so solemn she was
but I did not laugh.
I held my pockets open
to receive each treasure
I packed a bit of lunch in a bag
She led the way to a rose bush
it was heavy with buds
and two new blossoms filled the air
with the early summer scent.
I was bid to put the stones here
and sit over there and watch.
Will you make a nice line? I asked.
She shook her head.
A box, a square perhaps? No.
I sat quietly then
while she chose the first stone
and placed it, then the next
setting each one with purpose.
When I stood as she stepped back
a perfect spiral.
We sat and ate our lunch
while the bees buzzed overhead.