Yesterdays
Why don’t you climb inside
my braids and sing
me a song?
swinging
out over the grasses
our feet stretched so high
the chain-link grinds
as we rise
toward
sun
Why don’t you open up your
freckles and let
me inside?
I need
to know where
the June bugs hide in the winter
when swings don’t swing
and the night
stands
still
poetry by Christina Ward
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