The Swing

The box was covered in dust and found in the rafters in the garage. Inside were journals dating back to 1975, pictures, newspaper stories I thought important enough to safe for posterity, and there were keepsakes to pass on to my children after I'm gone. I've decided to not wait until I kick the bucket to share what I've found.

My most-recent blog postings--about a broken heart and a trip to Europe in an attempt to escape the pain--came from a journal found in the bottom of the box. Today's post is a poem I also found in the box. I wrote it in October, 1975, after my fifteen-year-old sister, Lynnette, came to visit me at the farmhouse I was renting in Evansville during the time I was engaged to be married.

The Swing

Embracing moments of sweet caress

when you came to see me, my little sis.

Through the crisp cool air you soared on my swing,

while spurts of youthful memories shot through my veins.

Frolicking laughter echoed among the shredding trees,

then joined the wind to tussle the raining leaves.

Fancy dancesteps pranced on autumn's crimson floor,

crushing and cackling musically as you tore.

Sun-streaked strands of chestnut skipped about your face,

then fell exhausted as you slowed the pace.

Departing teardrops crept from your sad, sweet eyes,

trickling steadily downward with the final goodbyes.

Silent now is the parchment ground that winter brings,

listening only to the whistling wind as it teases the swing...

...its only playmate

now that you're gone

                                                    --carol gardner 1975

Old Laubscher Farmhouse in Evansville, Indiana