"Grown Man Swingin"
the chain links stretch high
as the heels of my size 13s
clip the ground, fanning
the wood chips below.
I look up at a sky that changes
but always stays familiar to the past;
as the heels of my size 13s
clip the ground, fanning
the wood chips below.
I look up at a sky that changes
but always stays familiar to the past;
It had been years when as a child
my limbs like ropes let go, swinging
back and forth.
My cousin, Oli, nearly rotates my swing
full circle as the way down pulls
the pit of my stomach into the top
of my throat. My yells are muffled
like spoken words under water
and in quick motions I hear her
laughter as she asks, screaming,
"otra!?"She pushed and my rope legs
swung with the chains,
uncontrolled til' she let up
from pushing my back.
full circle as the way down pulls
the pit of my stomach into the top
of my throat. My yells are muffled
like spoken words under water
and in quick motions I hear her
laughter as she asks, screaming,
"otra!?"She pushed and my rope legs
swung with the chains,
uncontrolled til' she let up
from pushing my back.
Today, my shoulders make room
in between the chains
and my rear overlaps the
the hammock strip.I smile on the way back
letting myself go forward, the air
taking all the problems that have grown
with me somewhere else.
brownhornet, © July 2006
REVISED*
REVISED*
1 comment:
I enjoyed reading this poem!
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