(in winter it was always glazed over),
there was always someone to catch you there
at the end;
though climbing up the ladder on your own
was a little dizzying;
you felt kind of brave.
later on, the same playground, park
or even in the old backyard,the shade,
you looked at it: a simple thing
not that high off the ground.
why did it seem such a challenge.
have you forgotten how small you were,
how everything loomed large
or the smell of cut grass in the yard;
the summer splish and splash
not wading out too deep?
now you've drifted far
and wonder, closer to the end
or the beginning,
where you are;
and climbing up, now,
rung by silent rung
through every season
you'll wonder what's to come
when you're careening down the utmost slide
into the angels.
mary angela douglas 16 june 2016