There's a towel There
There’s a Towel There
There’s a towel there
“Why, Jojo?”
He stands on me, grinning as the sun made him,
water dripping from his lashes,
no reason in the world except joy.
“Kale, not while you're swimming!”
But he sneaks chocolate anyway,
melting sweetness in his smile.
And Jodie, glowing
sun-kissed, relaxed,
finally breathing instead of surviving.
The pool is alive with chaos and laughter,
floaties stolen or borrowed
colours bright as tropical fruit
holding childhood at bay.
The air is thick, humid,
skin sparkling with sweat and sea-salt peace.
Cocktails clink beside me,
the ice as lazy as my heartbeat.
My melanin drinks the sun like gospel,
warmth seeping deep into bone
where old stresses used to live.
And I think
funny, isn’t it?
How we work ourselves to the edge of breaking
just to afford stillness.
How peace costs money.
How love, loud and messy,
is the richest thing we own.
So I sit here,
a father with sand between his toes and blessings in his hands,
capturing these moments like photographs on the soul.
Some listen.
Some read.
And
we just live.
Together.
With sun, laughter, chocolate hands,
and a towel
always left right there.
