Poems of Place

The Seesaw

(Bristol)

Before
I fall asleep at night,
I try to bring to my mind’s eye all the
moments of the day and
give thanks for
each one.

There are moments that are lost forever. I don’t chase them.
There are moments that hide their gifts well.
I have to make myself find them.
And there are moments that
call out for more.
Yes, there are
moments
like that
too.

Last night I had a more moment:
a four year old on a seesaw,
in a state of utter delight,
going up and down,
up and down,
again and
again.

This morning,
a question woke me;

“Grandma, where is your seesaw?”