An Echo

She hopscotches along the edge 

of a playground as I add numbers 

or answer emails; she skips alongside 

me at social events— graduations, 

weddings, funerals— waiting for me 

to notice, reminding me there is more 

in a moment than ceremony or sadness;

she sits beside me in silent kindness 

when I cry, and she rushes me out 

of the bed on Christmas morning 

or when it’s snowing or when thunder 

rolls in rain before the dawn rises;  

she is giddy amid flowers, longs to climb 

trees, and she sings out-loud and freely 

without even caring about who might 

be listening.  She dances in mad swirls 

and stomps through mud —without her 

I would be lost in the tedium of days; 

she reminds me to blow wishes

on dandelions and find art in the clouds,

she chases fireflies and points to Orion’s

Belt, and she laughs until she rolls 

on the ground, overcome by the joy 

of just being a child, and I am thankful 

she is still part of the who that I am.

—C.L. Fisher, February 2021

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