I am long legs and big feet.

She is lady-like,
legs crossed
and curled
under a skirt,
under a swing.

I push her away from me
knowing she will return.

I watch loose black strands
escape from the butterfly clip
and dance
ritualistically
across her neck,
frenzied and forbidden.

When she is alone
her eyes cry
but she doesn’t

yet know why.

My body is mechanical
like this swing
her body is natural
like the wind.

I can hear them calling my name
the older boys
the men
for softball softball
church softball

but I ignore them.

I can’t touch her yet
but I can talk to her
like I am.