where do the children play
and it rings in my ears as I travelbecause what I had
is like a swing
with a broken chain
dangling crooked
on a lovely summer day
such a sweet, supportive
playful thing
imperfect in its ability to pinch your fingers
while sending you skyward
upward to a magical mysterious
magistracy, almost...
I would love
to get on again
and the wind sings
to the end tendrils of my hair
spinning them in circles
carrying dreams out of my eyes
that never left
my lips
till my children come to play
and sit upon my ankles
they remind me
the way "nothing gold can stay" by Robert Frost
reminds me
"easy"
is a word for chairs
and filing your taxes
Life well lived
does not fit that word
a Cinderella slipper
and I won't cut off my toes
to fit that slice of glass
So every possibility
however far fetched
is played out
every broken heart string is
strummed on
to send vibrations down spinal chords
instead of music chords
till I remember
quite clearly
it is not just a journey
about me
we are in this together
which is how it should be.
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