Poem: The Swingset

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.

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