Sneakers dug into dirt
Let go, fly high
Taking this moment to revert –
Swinging to and fro.
Eyes closed, nostrils flared
Higher and higher, I persist
Leaving all behind, though scared…
Cold metal chains, firm in fist
Maintain my flow, nearly hypnotic…
Decades have passed, but I survive
Revisiting a time so chaotic
Up, up – must stay alive.
Was it when I scribbled my first check?
No, that can’t be when I grew…
Before everything was high tech?
No… I’m sorry, that’s untrue
Higher, higher, and here I go
Readying to take flight
When was I aware I’d grown?
Legs stretched, gather my might
Riding the back of the wind,
Bracing myself to come back down,
Yet refusing to be confined
No more pain or tears will I drown…
Years and strife, all this behind…
The answer is quite clear.
Age is not how I’m defined,
Tiny spark remains – year after year.
© Susan Reed
This poem was written in response to today’s Daily Post Prompt:
When was the first time you really felt like a grown up (if ever)?