Playground Blues

We swing together, side by side.

Our feet are up the air

Until they block out the sun above us.

You are too big now

For me to push you.

You want to do it your own way,

Like I taught you:

Push your legs out,

Once you are off the ground,

Then tuck them back under.

Legs straight, then bent,

Straight, bent, straight, bent.

I am so glad you can do things for yourself

More and more everyday.

That is what I am here for, after all.

But it is also hard

To be less needed,

Soon you will no longer believe my silly lies

Like my chocolate is only for grown ups

And the park is closed in the early mornings

When it is raining.

One day we will not play together on these swings at all.

But at the moment

It is time for the seesaw

Which remains, for now,

A game for the both of us.

 

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Waiting

Pressed up against the glass

Waiting to see you

I breathe in,

Count slowly, and breathe again.

A car drives past

Then turns

Into the driveway two houses down.

A soft mumble behind me

From the television;

I will keep waiting,

Breathing steadily,

Until the garden gate swings open

And you come home.

 

 

Through the Grove

Crushed leaves underfoot

From the orange trees above us

As we stomp through the grove,

Loudly,

To scare away any snakes

Who might be lurking,

Although we rarely see them.

 

Rotting skin of fallen oranges

Decaying in the dried grass;

Streams of ants

Rushing to and from the fruit

As you splash in the puddles

Made by the old green hose.

 

We stack small stones,

Rake the dry dirt together,

Draw with twigs along the ground,

Water the weeds.

 

So many questions

Which I had never thought about;

You help me see the world

Through new eyes,

With new wonder.

You make me realise

How little I know.

 

The scent is beautiful

From the orange leaves:

Inhaled and gone in an instant,

As these days will be,

When I look back on them.

Porridge

Sticky sweetness bound together

By oats in the morning drizzle

Grey days poured away with the milk

As the sugar clumps in my mouth.

Waking up before daybreak

To only the light from the water tower,

I pull my scratchy tights on,

Stumble downstairs to my breakfast.

I am so tired and eat so slowly

That the porridge hardens and cools,

Feeling heavy in my stomach.

Dawn streaks across the sky while I rush,

Late again, to my classes.

I cannot say I  miss those primary school days.