Karen D.

Silent Playground

The last child has long since been tugged away
Night has forgotten the sounds that left with the light:
The creaky see - saw and gossiping mothers,
Babies balanced on their hips
The squeal of children as they fly down the slide
A chubby toddler tottering in circles around his mother
Until he falls with a thump on his heavily padded backside.

Now the park is silent, unmoving.
Even the girl who sits on the swing is motionless.
Her bare feet dangle just above the dewy young grass
Trailing off behind her, the fresh sprigs are rumpled and bent
Where the pads of her toes made gentle depressions in the warm, damp dirt.
Her hair reflects the light of the moon
It flows over the dull steel links like melted white-gold
Her skin is paler yet,
With a curious phosphorescence
That separates her from all else present in the cool night
Something unearthly.
An offensive bruise on the underside of her wrist
Is the only remaining blemish battling her
Perfection
Where her translucent skin displays thin, blue veins
Delicate and beautiful, a ghostly spider web.




[TABLE OF CONTENTS, LHS CLASS OF 2009 EDITION]


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