The seats were metal then, cold even in summer. We didn’t need a push—we swung, pumped our legs until the sun seemed close enough to singe, until our lungs swelled fat with breath.
The ground beneath us could have killed, but didn’t—we pumped and swung until it disappeared, until the iron chains we clung to wore patterns in our palms.
Circles, lines, and flecks of rust. No adults in sight, it was the two of us, dodging cars in search of freedom, flight.
Those times are fragrant now, evoked by bugs unlike the ants at our feet, rising by the thousands. Ours was a hard world, buildings and noise, concrete and iron…
And honeysuckle, always honeysuckle, every spring.
This was us, petal and pistil, silk and sweet. This was us, between sharp edges and life.
And I do not wonder why I love you, thinking back—the daring in your spirit, the grooved and open heart of your smile.
Your willingness to face threats and fly into the sun.
I do not wonder why.
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Sweet and evocative!
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Thank you for your kind words. Stay safe!
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Wonderful piece!
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Thank you for your kind comment…and for your photographs. They are wonderful!
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Thank you, Barbara.
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Cold seats on playground swings. Ah yes, I remember them well.
Real good poem.
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Thank you! As Paul Simon wrote, “Time it was and what a time it was, it was….” Stay safe!
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Love this, Barbara. I remember those swings and flying as high as possible. ~nan
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Thanks, Nan. It was a different time…for certain. Glad the piece brought some of that back for you. 🙂
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