As youngsters,
dwarfed by your broad shoulder,
your forearm - sturdy as a maple trunk,
we swung from your limbs like monkeys,
draped off your neck like threads of tinsel,
our feet rarely grazing the ground.
We capered over you,
our personal jungle gym
because you were rooted,
solid,
staunch as a statue,
albeit one that laughed.
My own kids never knew you like that.
But, if I really try,
if I coil inward
toward the quiet tempo of my pulse,
surrender to the drumbeat in my chest,
you begin to emerge,
unfolding before me,
a warm, breathing relic from my childhood.
The awakening of a gentle giant.
The apparition is fleeting,
but just long enough so that
I may once again feel the wind on my face,
the grass nipping my ankles,
your arm as my abiding anchor.
