Swing

independence came on a swing,
unexpectedly,
my legs pumping on their own
though I hadn’t asked them to,
wanting to return again and again
into the strong warm hands
of a parent on my low back –
yet my betraying feet poked
high into the blue, deceitful
arms pulled on the chains
in a great skyward V-sit
then spine arced forward
in a swoop of thrill and loss,
my mother’s hands now pushing
my brother, younger, smaller,
greater with need.

i disappear on a swing,
scrub myself against air to shed
confusions and disappointments
of a day, a pandemic, an imaginary
lover whose hands will never
touch my back –
my worn body still
pushes and pulls itself
a lengthening pendulum of release
tethered to the shadow that chases
from the ground,
always a moment behind
in either direction.