Elleanor carried her current
book down to the beach.
Early readers aren't heavy
burdens to pack up or down
steep trails. On the way back
she skipped ahead to catch me
trundling and heaving
trundling and heaving
breathless up the steep incline -
helped by hiking sticks.
We stopped to rest and wait
by the entrance turnstile
near the top for her
mother and little sister.
She perched on the
split rails and opened her book
to the page marked by a
folded cloth napkin.
Composed and generous --
she offered to read to me.
I offered her my tiny pocket
flashlight to illuminate words
shaded by old growth
cedars at dusk. Half way
down the page she stopped
to enthuse about the word shoul-
der which spilled over onto
the next line. She read it twice
to make sure it was as delicious
the second time as the first.
This girl lives hyphenated. She
enchants and captivates me --
another feminine being who will
never be squeezed into one
sentence, one line, or one page.
