Image via Maquillaje Hippie Chic
Branch, Leaves, Swing
By Annette Marie Hyder
Friday scratches with the tips of her fingers at the window
rattles my concentration along with the leaves
that she is wearing.
She holds out her arm
a branch that twines from the topmost floor
where I am perched
all the way down to the street.
It’s cold outside and she tweaks my nose,
ruffles my hair,
when I open the window.
But I don’t care.
I climb over the sill and start hand-over-handing
and shimmying down to her feet.
Believe it or not, for the last bit of climbing there is,
she cups one of her hands into a swing.