(Minnesota , 1959)
I used to
swing on an old tire (when I
was a kid),
Roped
around a thick branch of a large tree—
In
the empty lot we called, Indian’s Hill:
Going
faster back and forth—then with one
Leap
I jumped off, flew to the ground—
I’d
grow still and look up:
The
jump did not hurt my feet or ankles
All
that much, but the will to do it again
Was
lessened, but I’d do it again, and again.
It’s
kind of how my life’s been.
#3369 (Sunday) July 8, 2012