KJ Delaney

Kate (When We Walk)

Wait, don’t…

I reach for her hand,

so small, as she rushes toward.

Feet swim in boots,

lemon yellow, that cover bare feet.

A leap,

straight up instead of forward,

crashing down to

a puddle where sidewalk meets street.

Her face with smile turns.

The sound, so soft; a whispered squeak.

The water churns

between soles, and now, wet rubber beneath.


  • Paul Bell

    You can't beat a day of puddling.
    Something about that little chasm that tiny minds fearlessly go into to.
    That includes me. lol

To be able to comment and rate this poem, you must be registered. Register here or if you are already registered, login here.