I still sit on that old swing

I think about the days

When my worries were not too heavy to be lifted by the push of calves

Then wind

Then the sunshine, bleeding through the shade of the big tree.

When my biggest fear was monsters that weren’t real

I still sit on that old swing.

I wonder.

If I move like I used to,

Play like I used to,

Laugh like how I used to,

Will the push of calves,

Then wind

Come to rescue me again?

Or am I too big?

Has the weight of the world conquered the swing?