Mom said we had five minutes before we had to board the ferry, so we lingered on a stony beach. Dad was the first to notice that the stones were perfect for skipping. He winged one and it seemed to go on for miles. My brothers and I joined in. The stones skipped so many times we lost track—ten, twenty, who cares? Mom sat on a towel and smiled behind her sunglasses. Fish leapt above the sea’s rippled skin. Dad looked like he’d come home at last. There were enough stones to last us an eternity, if we’d had it.
Ian Willey is an English teacher originally from Akron, Ohio. His poems and microfiction have been nominated for Pushcart and Best of the Net prizes. Instagram: @haiku_ian