Swing

If you were here this afternoon…I am picturing us on the porch swing, entangled in each other’s arms and legs.  I read  poetry while you flip through your latest autobiography.  I drink coffee, while you steal sips from my cup, reluctant to get your own.  We are each lost in our own literature, yet wildly aware of each other’s presence, more so than we want to convey.  We let the gentle breeze sweep through the screens of the porch, rocking us gently.  I suddenly find myself with an insatiable urge to swing…the kind of swinging that calls for child like abandon, full of fear and freedom.  The kind of swinging that asks for just the right amount of hold and letting go at the same time in order to feel the high and rush of not only the ascent, but the fall as well.  I convince you to go on an adventure to find a swing with me.  We detangle, somewhat, putting down our books, while you finish off the last sips of coffee.  We parade into the house in order to find ourselves suitable swinging clothes.  Yet the entrapment of one another is more than we care to escape from at this moment.  So instead we make love.  The kind of love that calls for child like abandon, full of fear and freedom.  The kind of love that asks for just the right amount of hold and letting go at the same time in order to feel the high and rush of not only the ascent, but the fall as well.  You convince me to stay there and prolong my adventure of the swing.  I do not need convincing.

If you were here this afternoon…I would want you to see the freedom I have acquired, the contentment I now possess, the strength I am so clearly aware of.  But just like a cloud passing over the sun on a summer day, I am quickly reminded of how different things are.  You are not here on this afternoon with me.  In reality, would you have even allowed yourself to web into mine on a porch swing?  You have left me.  You have left me.  You have left me with an awareness.  An awareness that calls for child like abandon, full of fear and freedom.  The kind of awareness that asks for just the right amount of hold and letting go at the same time in order to feel the high and rush of not only the ascent, but the fall as well.  An awareness that gives me the clarity to see those things so sheltered by your presence.  You were my storm cloud.  My life without you is now a beautiful summer day. 

So I sit on my porch alone, reading poetry, thankful that I still have the opportunity to find someone to entangle with, but more than anything, thankful that I have found my own rhythm on this porch swing.