Moores Park

by Claire Taylor

In the beginning, I
tumbled, glass shards in palms,
hollered at trucks storming across the roundabout, and
chucked pinecones from the trees.
I planted my feet in the acorn-littered cement.

I was sugared tomato sweet,
swinging my bare legs against the rungs of stools,
smothering toast in swamps of raspberry jelly,
and leaving sticky fingerprints in borrowed books.
I sang deep into the night, refusing to go quietly.

I scrambled up to climb a maple
with arms outstretched,
and I truly believed that together,
we would rise out
above it all.

Houses splayed like a rainbow of matchboxes,
sky split open like a grin,
sun soaked and shivering,
ever higher
with each shuddering branch in hand.

And there we were,
climbing hydrangeas,
and morning glories,
and I,
all reaching heavenward
for the outrageous joy of growing.