Joan Roger

We rest in sunlight

near a teal mountain lake.

Glimmers of light

on the water’s surface

and iridescent bigleaf maples

remind me—

I tend to my wailing ankles,

know they speak of limits,

while my son

on a nearby rock,

soars and crashes to earth

with careless elation.

How easy it would be

to curse the confines

of my body,

but just now, a grey jay

alights on a cedar branch

swaying in the breeze.