Just before
Once –
just before
the long skipping rope
hit the ground with a thwack,
I was young.
And days sprawled
indeterminate
and borderless
until the tug of hunger
pulled me home.
No take-aways then,
Only nature’s hedgerow treats
sour and sweet on the tongue,
and streams
to drink or suck from icy mittons.
Oh the glory days
of limitless possibility
and no responsibility
and the unrespectability
of climbing trees
and lounging
with your knees apart.
And that feeling
just before the rope thwacked,
that ‘spring into the line’
‘just in time’,
and the dip in your knees
ready for the jump
and your heartbeat
racing.
Wendy Bowers
2.10.17
Once –
just before
the long skipping rope
hit the ground with a thwack,
I was young.
And days sprawled
indeterminate
and borderless
until the tug of hunger
pulled me home.
No take-aways then,
Only nature’s hedgerow treats
sour and sweet on the tongue,
and streams
to drink or suck from icy mittons.
Oh the glory days
of limitless possibility
and no responsibility
and the unrespectability
of climbing trees
and lounging
with your knees apart.
And that feeling
just before the rope thwacked,
that ‘spring into the line’
‘just in time’,
and the dip in your knees
ready for the jump
and your heartbeat
racing.
Wendy Bowers
2.10.17