April is birthday month for me and many friends. One old former friend of mine celebrated her birthday yesterday, and I meant to post this for her then. This poem was generated by a picture prompt of swings. In honor of m old friend's birthday and National Poetry Month here is a tribute to swinging.
Tribute to Swinging
In college my roommate had a rocking chair.
She rocked so passionately that sometimes her rocking chair fell a part.
It was not uncommon for her to re-glue her special chair over winter break.
When her rocking chair was in the shop,
she found a swing set in the park across the street and swung--higher and higher over the water that it looked out upon.
I tried rocking too and swinging, but it makes me queasy.
Motion sickness comes over me easily.
A quiet disease caused by imbalance in your inner ear.
Rocking, swinging, riding, sailing, looking at microfilm in the public library
--any inorganic motion makes me uncomfortable.
I feel it start to tingle in my hands and feet,
and the dizziness and nausea comes over me instantly,
until I stop what I am doing.
But it is a wave across time from me to you when this happens.
I know you are out there whenever I rock or swing.
I think of you. Leaving me alone. As I have thought of you so many times.
Funny how this swing always brings us back together.
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