The
Cold Swing
Swinging
on a cold swing
the
moon an icy cuticle
through
bare branches
the
cold air night
a
rebirth of blemish-free childhood
sky
so clear
like
long ago Illinois nights
cold
cutting
the
moon a sickle sweeping
striking
ears cheeks limbs
but
honest--
you
could drive for miles and miles
through
frigid rows of faceless cornstalks
it
was somehow simpler there then
every
immediate challenge immediate
a
whitewashed cross of hardwood
hurdled
easily
without
strain
legs
still yearning
for
the next soaring flight--
and
now
now
straining muscles fail against bulging burdens
discontentment
fog
and clouds the normal color of New York skies
except
for this Moment:
the
moon hanging crystal clear
the
muscles babyborn new
dark
cornfields surround you again
and
you soar
swinging
on a cold swing.
Mitchell Waldman
Mitchell Waldman's fiction, poetry, and essays have appeared in numerous publications, including Ariel Chart, Fictive Dream, The Waterhouse Review, Crack the Spine, The Houston Literary Review, The Faircloth Review, Epiphany, Wilderness House Literary Magazine, The Battered Suitcase, and many other magazines and anthologies. He is also the author of the novel, A Face in the Moon, and the story collection, Petty Offenses and Crimes of the Heart, and serves as Fiction Editor for Blue Lake Review. A new story collection is due out from Mitchell in 2021. (For more info, see his website at http://mitchwaldman.homestead.com).
Truly captures many moods at-once, or the reader could isolate one and ruminate on it for a while. To me, that's the mark of a very fine work of art.
ReplyDeleteTruly captures many moods at-once, or the reader could isolate one and ruminate on it for a while. To me, that's the mark of a very fine work of art.
ReplyDeleteNice work. My two favorite lines: "the moon an icy cuticle" and "a rebirth of blemish-free childhood."
ReplyDelete