fruit punch pouches left on the platform

and moss making a home for itself in the wood grain

hands reaching for rust-plagued metal bars

and swinging feet avoiding the six clanging chains,

but mom calls me in for dinner

 

I have to go, I’ll be back out when I’m done.

 

You promise?

 

If my parents let me.

 

See you later . . .

 

sometimes the grass catches me gently

but other times, not so gently

all I know know to do is cry

because scraped knees and bruises 

are my biggest pains

and having to go inside

is what makes me sad

 

with green knees and a growling tummy

I said goodbye

 

Hello?

 

hours later I walk back outside to

the canvas roof all torn up

like my knees used to be

to bug filled binoculars,

and no one

tugging at the ropes pulling themselves up

no more love out there

wearing down the wooden stairs

 

all I know how to do now

is take myself to the places I loved as a kid

where I could still breath and play,

free

from the scary things and the big feelings

 

I seem to have lost what happened

between coming in for dinner and growing up

 

there are still dirt patches under the swings

from when we used to drag our feet