The swingset swings in its lonesome
the creaking of the metal chains
the gentle push from the evening air
the absent sound of laughter
echoes in the mind
watching the empty seat
from an empty home
filled with emptiness.
Once it wasn’t like that
once it was like spring
the emergence of flowers
the child-like giggle
the warmth of the sun
the touch of my little girl, pulling me outside, towards the swingset
no creaking
rather “papa”, “papa”.
That once wasn’t long ago,
but in the middle of winter,
underneath the pile of snow as more flakes come down the eternally gray skies
the feeling of spring is so far removed
barely comprehensible that such a thing existed
but the thoughts still linger on that distant memory
on that spring day
when the swing didn’t creak
when the child laughed
and it filled the emptiness inside of me
now she’s gone, spring’s gone, the laugh is gone
yet I’m here
without hope
with thoughts only for what which isn’t here
and what is here is the lonely swing
groaning, moaning, crying.
Learned Living 