Four Seasons

I. Spring

swing gently back,          sway
                briskly forward
        into gravity’s
                                        free fall
bend elbows v’d, thrust
my legs out, feel myself arcing
the curve; pull
my arms — long and taut — hold tight,
secure inside this sturdy, pedestaled embrace
breaking free, toes pointing
                                                        up
toward the sky
where I swing in parallel
accord
feeling the glee of a tickle,
the wisp of the air filling
my nostrils,
the thrill of life
beckoning me to hold
firmly to my chains,
to steady
harpsichord’s notes
in time with violin’s strokes

II. Summer

travel new pathways — winding,
chirping, trickling toward
forest blue where
still end meets cheer hollowing
in the distant wind

tata tata tata ta
dada dada dada da

my aerie sweeps, climbs
upward. What height
dare I push before plummeting down,
down — stumbling feebly
upon abandoned quay,
giggling, stomping my feet firmly
on good ground,
I upend her harpsichord,
his violin,’twining
‘tween Iliad’s lines

III. Autumn

Children bound gracefully
about their winding trails, through Monticello’s grove,
as though Martha’s wits and reason
have
                a
                        tale

Once upon a knoll,
we swung alongside vines,
tethers of sweet berries
linked one
by one
by one
then we ate the berries
singing a made-up tune
dubbed ‘Once Upon a Swing’

solitude’s bells, chime rhythmically —
ting a ling, a ling
ting a ling, a ling

Her strings unwind; gentle,
sweet, undone
diminuendo; I linger in the silence
of her harpsichord

IV. Winter

gifting staggering sway to quill a peaceful
world where God’s heart
occupies Thomas’ hearth
placing sturdy combinations
of lavender and lilies next
Martha’s grave —
sensing breathless aroma
skidding down Independence Grove —
shady umbrellas open, keeping
life subdued
offshoots pellet fertile ground
taking root
pound for pound

Thomas reaches back, holds
his stroke, pressing
the fingers of my harpsichord