Child, the swing set
squeaking in the familiar way.
Father, in the familiar way,
swings me, pushes the chains, my back, my everything,
every time I was back he would whisper or coo,
animal noises, ghost haunting wafts,
the dog barking, the boos.

Swinging so strong the set jumps up from its
Georgia clay grounding,
that fear,
I will topple, or head diagonal in the stopping,
that fear.

When we moved,
the trampoline stayed.
The next house had one.
A new swing set, in front of a pond.
A croaking bullfrog-*******,
fake ducks gurgling under fake fountain.
The fear, falling in the water.

Dog once, now dead,
scampering across the thin layer
ice, the pond in winter,
me screaming me bawling, debating the worth of jumping and saving.
She crossed, me on my knees, both
alive
a prayer.
Saved.