monkey bars
monkey bars
it’s lifting your feet
as trains pass,
holding your breath
near graves—it’s hiding
shivers
as you angel
in the snow.
it’s filling your rain boots
with puddles,
water-logged Velcro
too soggy
to stick––it’s gum,
decades-old,
decaying
under desks.
it’s crunching leaves
once they orange;
their sound
bites
like brown-bagged lunch—it’s cartons
of milk
curdling
in heatwaves.
it’s stuffing inch worms
in pockets
and forgetting
by laundry day—it’s hanging
hand-me-downs
you’re sure
are shrinking.
it was sitting on daddy’s suitcase,
your 80 pounds helping
it zip.
but now, it’s you,
and your bags are all packed,
filled
with things
you can’t get back.
Charlotte Pruett is an award-winning journalist, creative and writer. Originally from the east coast, she graduated from the University of Southern California with a degree in Journalism and now works in Australia as a copywriter. Her poetry has been published in peer-reviewed journal Latino Literatures, Etched Onyx Magazine, the Story Discovery Podcast, and more. She published her debut poetry collection, The Seamstress, in 2020.
