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One Kiss
by Hannah Allman The waves rolled under the pier and the June sky was a wash of blue strewn with cotton. The sun whitened her little blond head and made his green eyes squint. The ocean wind blew at their clothes - his shirt and trunks, her overalls. He held his daughter around her waist, her bare feet dangling from the hammock made of arms. They looked into the camera. He smiled, but her round white face stayed stoic, and no amount of coaxing could change it. He kissed the little blond head. It smelled of salt water and baby oil, and for a moment he remembered another kiss, another little head, another daughter, long ago when he was too young to be a father. One kiss was all he had gotten then. Now this one was here, and he was old enough to be a father. He kissed her head again, because he could. |
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