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Unaccompanied
March 11, 2011
The creaking
of the swing grates
on my ears so I
let my feet
touch the ground.
Shivering in the
autumn air,
I watch little
kids play
and moms and dads
watch over them.
I scan the park
for dad,
who called 30
minutes ago,
said he was
on his way.
I must look
strange,
14 and sitting
among the tots,
swinging with
the best of them.
The park starts
to empty,
no one calls my
name;
all I hear is
the wind.
Dad called,
45 minuted ago, now,
said he was
on his way.
I start
swinging again.
© Emma C., Gardner, MA
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