A Little Back, More Forward

Swing set of red and green.

Resting on a hill

beside a Madrona tree.

My sister and I still

young, swing all day,

back and forth at will.

The Cold War at hand, yet we play,

running in panic when a siren sounds.

Certain they pushed The Button, all to slay.

Mother’s soothing words calming us down.

Back to the swing set we ran. Lowering

ourselves to the seat, pushing off the ground.

Leaning back, raising up, toward

the sky.

A little back, more forward.