by lbudrow

Cypress slats, tilted seat and slightly curved back
Her legs dangle under a modern-day time machine
Transporting her back to a little girl long gone
Sitting on a similar seat in her grandfather’s backyard
Swinging beneath maple helicopter seeds
She stops to pick dandelions and wild strawberries
To gather weedy bouquets, her head full of dreams
And silly story plots – he loves me he loves me not
Imagining the day when she will be grown
But at that time how could she know
She’d be 42 and wishing for a simpler time
Of fresh cut grass and a swing seat made of pine
That supported the weight of her girlish desires,
Of imaginary friends and her grandfather still alive,
Scent of sawdust from his woodshop hobbies
Swinging near the wire fence lined with peonies,
There were so many reasons to never forget,
To sit on that swing and never grow up,
But life doesn’t stop.........until it does
And then all of a sudden dangling toes touch
Feet firm on the ground, memories fade and faces are dust.

But now and then a cool wind blows to beckon a ghost
To come and sit on the swing on the porch.

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