Rooted in earth, anchored by steel beams
the wrought iron swing set stands abandoned
a glider hangs inert, the swing empty
on the day I entered school.
At eight, I press my face between
iron poles, listening to Dukie tell
how he entered a haunted house.
A huge garden spider suddenly darts
between us, squeezing under the shingles.
Dukie scoops it out with a garden tool
chases me with its dangling remains.
Jerry and I swing madly on the glider
ignoring his little sister wandering
into its path. A gory gash opens her brow
we wait for fathers to return home
to mete out our sentence.
By twelve, I can pump the swing higher
than the top of the a-frame standard.
Stories of kids flying over the top
to crumple to the ground thunder
in my head. The iron beams shift
as I pump higher and higher.
At fifteen, I use the swing set to climb the fence
sneaking out to lie with Jerry in the grass
I return home, steal up the back stair
Mom looks up from the kitchen table
and chills me with a Medusa glare.
The legacy of my older sister tarnishes
The joy of my willful youth.
Forty-five, cleaning my parents’ house
bearded iris still border the wall
where a spider met its doom.
Chain-link fence bares no evidence
of youthful sin. Ghost stories
filter through the breeze that stirred
an empty swing long ago.
Deep ruts where iron beams once lay
now fill with silt and garden duff.
If you enjoyed this post, feel free to check out more in the Ring Around the Basin Archive.
A beautiful poetic trip back in time! This brought me back to some of my own youthful misadventures
Thank you, Ed, it is indeed. And this period of time has been a rollercoaster of emotions for several different reasons. One of the upnotes is the publication of your new book. Congratulations!