Swinging in the Backyard

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April 5, 2013 by Molten Art

By Hannah Ingram

Untrimmed grass climbs

Towards bruised knees,

Burying bare toes.

The moon is not winking,

Or even wanting to be seen.

He covers his face,

But a sliver still peaks out.

Softly swaying,

The swing creaks

For the sole purpose

Of making its existence known.

Yet, not as tangible

As the sense of melancholy.

A hollowness that hangs

Suspended from the looming treetops.


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