P O E T R Y
William Swinging
GINNY LOWE CONNORS
I
MUST stand in front of him when I push him in the toddler swing, a little wooden cage that holds him as he parts the air, feels it making room for him, and the world— just like any small boy— refuses to stay still.
I push his feet. Sometimes I catch hold of his red, velcroed sneakers and pause the pendulum of his body, pull him a little nearer before letting him go.
There is nothing funnier than this, this little surprise interrupting the motion of swinging. He grins, he laughs, knowing I like to hold him close. The release, and then the return.
24