KEEPING HIM ALIVE

 

I am standing on the plank of a swing,

hands ready on the ropes.

Strapped to the front of my waist is an oversized

toddler's swing where my father rides,

faced forward, knuckles rigid as he grips

the safety bar.

Infant wisps of white hair stray over

his freckled scalp.

Wanting to live, he must wait for me

to start the motion.

 

Although we appear inert, unconscious

shifts of my weight

cause us to sway.  A give at my knees

poles the tandem swing

forward.  I bend my elbows, let all my heaviness

drive us backward.

Bend the knees, straighten arms and pull;

straighten legs, bend elbows, push.

On each sweep of our widening arc, my bones grow

lighter, hollow as a bird's.

 

Now my body lies parallel to gravel, now to clouds

streaming red smoke.

Night rises on the horns of our arc to the sky

wheeling rose, violet, ash.

 

A crescent moon cuts off the birds' last notes.

My father's breath hums in my chest.

 

Faces to the pebbled ground, to the starred sky,

we dip and rise, abiding in balance.

 

 

© Charlotte Mandel

            from Keeping Him Alive, Silver Apples Press, 1990.