Can't Reach Me

I sat down on the swing set, swaying gently. My feet rocked along: heel, toe, heel, toe. Plenty of memories sat heavy in the park’s cool air. The pleasant: gossip on the see-saw, storytelling atop the rock wall, laughing along the balancing beam. And the unpleasant: a lie on the shaky bridge, a kiss in the shadows, a heart broken on the wood chips. All of these memories clashed, an awful din rising up. Yet still I sat on that swing. It was odd; this was the only place I felt calm. I guess those memories couldn’t reach the swings.

River Schwartz is a high school poet and storyteller. He often has a cup of tea while writing. Currently, he is editing his first novel.