Life Flying By

A poem I wrote for my grandmother

Seven years old and we are running through tall grass.

Midday Sun beats down and we hold hands laughing.

Little boy, little girl.

I remember the sweet cold water of the pond that summer, and your gap toothed smile.

Twelve years and counting, but we still use the old wooden swing, hung in the great oak.

Higher and higher you push me, my hair streaming.

My toes reach skyward and I want to fly.

But back down I go, to your warm hand pushing me up and away.

Your simple touch now makes me feel a warmth I try to hide.

Do you remember?

Eighteen, and summer is almost gone.

The night sky is pinpricked with stars that we gaze at through firefly sparks.

Waltzing through the tall grass to the whispered night breeze, I look up at you.

When did you get so tall?

Everything is ending, but as we dance it doesn’t matter.

I remember how my heart nearly burst from my chest as your lips touched mine.

I could have spread wings and flown into the sky if you hadn’t held me tight.

Rain falls, and I am glad of it. Our paths have split.

You are far away and I am here.

As I wait to see you time trickles like sand, slowly burying me.

                Each day my heart constricts, wondering if you will lay down your gun and come home,

Or if you will fall to the ground and sleep with it in your arms forever.

Did you see my tears as you walked away?

My heart has laid so still these long months, that when it jumps, my breath is gone.

Rain falls again but as I run I only see your coming, feet flying over the muddy gravel.

Half drowning, our collision is a smack, but my heart is singing in time with my stinging skin.

Your lips find mine and I breathe you in like life itself.

I will never forget your eyes.

 It was like looking into heaven.

We waltz under a night sky once again, but this is different, better.

You hold me and the people sway around us, but there is only us here.

We are together and will never part.

Was this the best day of your life too?

My knees and hands hurt.

Your bones are cracking in time to the wicker chairs we lean back in.

Sleep whispers its persuasive call, the cadence soothing and gentling our ears.

But we stay and smell the night air, listen to tiny frog musicals, and stretch old limbs.

My eyes droop and I feel like I’m swooping.

My whole body is gone, but not my being, there is no fear.

I don’t need to feel you hand in mine to know  

You are with me forever, as we finally fly.

By Alissa Tsaparikos