Swing

Push me higher until I am all stomach,
until my eyes are like that fist of muscle,
tight and hungry. Fill me with green fields for sky.

Push me higher until I am all fingertips
feeling to the top, to the roof of our house calling, Mother, watch!
And she will, from the kitchen window, rinsing lettuce in the sink.

Push me higher until I am giddy from kicking clouds and birds,
burning my shoes off the sun, just push me.
The ropes vibrate, I barely hold them – let them sing.

When I touch the ground again, my legs feel like running.