Grasping your hand
And the whoop of your dress
Morning sunshine
Glazing the orchid sky
Posturing the stair upward
So you climb
And slide down
Misty words behind and all around
The grateful grass wets our feet
The finish of the woods
Like a hollow planet filled with wild things
You laugh and stick out your tongue
Snow falls in another world
Here we dance and cover our heads
A warrior and wizard
Together and walking this beautiful yard
Who joins us in the evening
Is anyone’s guess
Our land is open to any
And all guests
There are chairs edging the drive
Ten years down the line
Folded and wrapped with rust
But for now we fly our bodies ‘round
This future empty swing
3 comments:
Beautiful.
I like "the grateful grass wets our feet." I felt like the grass of Nonna's backyard was grateful that you, me, Aunt Sue, Uncle Lee, and Aunt Mare strided upon it.
This poem also reminds me that change is the only thing that is constant! Thanks Katie.
I, too, chose to write about the backyard swing, using the word 'glider' at the last moment before posting, why? Although my swingset swings and glider were of weathered board and located in the back corner of the yard, the connections continue and I smile. This land is open as well . . . come soon . . .
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