Slides

going down the slide in spring, summer or fall
(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