Hang On

[ponykeeper]

Revision 1

Hang On

 
In the yard a rope hangs
from the gnarled limb
where you used to swing,  
a giddy joy knotting
your clenched fists tighter
as you flew. And now
 
you turn away from the window, shuffle
with a gait like you’re hampered
by the weight of a toddler clamped
to your leg, and you can only drag
your stubborn limbs across the floor to climb
into your bed. Giddy,
 
you lie awake.  A joyless dream
swings from one use
of that old rope,
 
to the other.








































Version 1

Hang On
 
In the yard a rope hangs
from a large tree. You
used to swing. A giddy feeling
rode your shoulder whispering
 “higher, higher”.
 
Now you shuffle
with a gait where the weight
of a troll being dragged
across the floor kicks
at your calves and pummels
every inch of your limbs.
It gnaws at your knees
and screeches all night.
 
So you lie awake.
 
A giddy dream swings
from one use of that rope,
to another.