don't blink

October 15, 2008
By Stephanie Vachon, Milo, ME

the stars and i
are having a staring competition.
if i blink, i'll miss something,
a shooting star.
his fingers are wrapped in mine;
my heart is safe. secure.
we sit on the back
of my family's boat
playing at what we think
the moon is.
i say it's a mouth, smiling;
he thinks i'm crazy.
it's silent now.
we're both thinking.
shoulder to shoulder
we tilt our heads back
and search for the
brightest star.

i hear him breathing.
as the boat rocks,
he holds me tighter.
it's getting colder,
i cling to my sweatshirt.
we hear distant
voices from the camp
but we don't pay attention.
we talk about religion, beliefs,
and love.
hours go by,
we don't notice. or care.
school starts in a matter of weeks. the summer flew by
too fast.
the days of kayaking
through quiet waters together,
watching movies in the
long, hot hours of the day
will disappear.
only to be replaced
with books, schedules,
and auburn leaves.

he's looking at me
with his big brown eyes.
what did he ask?
oh, it's 9:35, but
i don't want to be
separated quite yet.
the moon is behind
the trees now
and the stars look brighter.
could that be?
a shooting star dares
to cross my eye's path;
i make a wish.
i look at him and ask
what he's thinking about.
“i love you,” is the answer to my question. “i love you too,” is all i can say
but i mean so much more.
mom calls us, we wake to reality,
it's time to bring him home.

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