Monday, April 22, 2013

One of My Oldest Poems


Sitting in our neighbor's rusted swing-
daughter in my lap-
Said, "The day will come
when I can no longer hold you like this."
Three year old reply, "I can sit beside you; you can always hold my legs."
Sunlight bathed us both and
warmed tender violets under the weeping willow,
urged life from the great magnolia
with velvet brown petals surrounding her trunk.
Why on earth,
I wondered, would I want to hold your legs?
Rusted swing squeaked us gently
back and forth.

Elaine Blanchard/1979