in the clearing by Linda Marics

                                                                                             in the clearing

thick snake–coiled ropes reach



       to the ground        a wooden plank     


grey-worn with time

I am

9 again

leaves crunch        rushing

               for the swing


hopping  up       I fit perfectly on the cracked seat

reach for the ropes   grip tightly     draw back


                            back until                          

almost off the ground


   I glide


legs raised high

    defying the wind

                             gathering momentum






                               higher         I soar

above the world

       below     my stomach tightens        sensual delight

  lighter and lighter    younger and younger




I am

the sway of a fetus

in utero


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