WRITE WEEK #4

[Split]

your first playground. remember it?
the wood, a frayed brown, a weathered ship
with cargo nets, tires & rings- a brig that was separate,
where Sarah said she'd be your crush. I became a Decemberist
for the rest of that whole month. Like polar bears, we'd climb
in bulky winter gear & hardly feel the elements. Colder years.
Partly due to embellishment, I mean, the sober fear
of development doesn't well up until you're well into it.
The seldom, a velvet intricate. Spiderwebs of frost:
the type you won't walk through more than once..
mortal walks, that you choke through when you talk.
Safety is the coarsest gauze to coat you when you fall.
Nothings safe about childhood, especially the venom
of nostalgia. Remember, December was so halycon?
They tore that playground down, bought the kids some iPads.
Maybe, its just a shipwreck in a distant ice cap....