in the clearing by Linda Marics

                                                                                             in the clearing

thick snake–coiled ropes reach

upward

       low

       to the ground        a wooden plank     

 

grey-worn with time

I am

9 again

leaves crunch        rushing

               for the swing

                                      recollection

hopping  up       I fit perfectly on the cracked seat

reach for the ropes   grip tightly     draw back

                      back     

                            back until                          

almost off the ground

           Whooosh

   I glide

                 forward

legs raised high

    defying the wind

                             gathering momentum

 

 

 

higher

                                                                   and

                               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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