Swingsets (I)

Like a ghost, I wander,
There’s my father sitting on a bench,
My mother talking to
Two other women in their once-bright
Summer dresses,
While my sister, acting cool,
Is lounging on the grass
Out with the big kids
Over by the woods.

Like a spirit, hovering,
I hear the squeaky sounds of kids,
Like sneakers on a gymnasium floor,
My brother and me,
Dressed for swimming,
Swinging ever higher,
Letting go in perfect arcs
Of weightlessness that last
Until we land.

Only with clouds gathering
And wetness in the air solidifying
To we begrudgingly head back to bicycles
And cars, my family walking back
Towards a cinder-block house
My sister furtively looking over her shoulder
At the tall dark-haired boy,
My brother looking up ahead at
The water tower,
And me wondering why
My father and mother never walk


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