There exists in my mind the image of
a playground near my childhood home.
This playground is *****.
The swing sets are rusted
(they shriek when they are put to use).
There are shards of glass in my feet
that have never come out
or healed over.
These broken pieces came from
somewhere,
but when I try to remember where
the swing sets begin to shriek
(so loud that I can't think).
I am afraid I will never know myself.