Eight

February 26, 2009
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Back and forth on a bright red swing
Watching my bare toes graze the horizon,
The bright orange sun sinking lower and lower
Leaving a midnight house of dark black clouds
With blazing bugs like Christmas lights. I was eight.

As I flew forward on my swing with delight
I leapt through the air landing in the freshly cut lawn
And sprawled in the foliage and long blades of grass
I lay looking up at the stars smiling with pleasure
Rolling through the grass I found my sister's hand. I was eight.

Spending the summers day outside giggling, laughing,
Looking for shade, we finally sought relief in the night as
We lay together in the damp sweet grass as we recounted the day
With sighs so content and whispers only of sisters,
We ran through the darkness together. I was eight.

As we rounded the corner of our mansion of pretend
We tripped over each other as more laughter escaped
Bare feet and legs pulling in all the mud and the moisture
As we scrambled to our feet and scampered to the fort, we climbed
Into our tree tower sharing a hug and spent the night outside. I was eight.





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