on my very last day
the clouds spread like gray frosting and i feel free
in the cool mist's embrace.
the grass is slick and green
and cold on my skin
as i walk slowly through
the ghosts of memories
there is the swing on the cable
i would slide across the yard
back and forth, back and forth
there is the tree that i would climb
and sit and draw the leaves and bark
the spiders and the ants
there is the row of apple trees
they blossom, flower, ripen; bear
my family and i would step up to the plate
in the autumn and swing at fallen fruit
i'm next in the batting order
i can let the apple drop, or hit it hard
into the sky, and feel the excitement
as i pass each base
and end up home.
