Credit: Lori Dunham
I lost the swing on the porch
white, peeling paint and rusty
chains holding firmly
the creaking bench.

I search up among the
distant stars and
into the velvet sky
to get a glimpse of
where the swing vanished
along with fireflies
the smell of honeysuckle
and apple blossoms
from the old tree
in the yard and the
long conversations below
the porch light.

Where I wonder
have I lost it?
Was it when I moved away
from town?
Or was it when
the bulldozers advanced like
bulldogs foaming
at the mouth?
Was it those shiny dollars
or the signature
on the deed
that pushed and pushed
the swing up and away
to disappear into the sky?

~ Lilian Gafni

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