Poetry by Greg Kerstetter
He chose the stone,
fitting the crook
of our fingers —
just so.
Ages of lake waves
had tongued it smooth,
rounded it ready
for skipping.
Who threw it?
It’s hard to say.
What I know:
That spinning rock
shot off
the bed-sheet-tight
water, and we,
orphans now,
rode that flight
tucked together
until it sank.
About the Poet
Greg Kerstetter lives, writes, and plays in western Massachusetts, where he sometimes pulls out his manual Smith-Corona typewriter and writes poems for people on-demand. It’s no way to make a living, but no customer has ever paid too much for too little. Read his blog about poetry, politics, and basketball at https://mrksdotblog.wordpress.com
Vita Brevis Press. 
A sweet and sharp one. Enjoyed this poem very much, Greg.
Wonderful wording. I especially. like the ending,
“and we,
orphans now,
rode that flight
tucked together
until it sank.”