From not even a hint it appeared
one long hot boring summer day out
in the yard magically suspended from
under the ancient white sycamore tree as if
hanging from two giant spider silk threads.
 
I was too young to understand
just how simple and clever it was.
Secretly constructed and installed
by my father, a rock steady hard
working blue collar saint of a man.
 
Amazingly, it was made up from only three parts.
Two purposeful measured lengths of smooth
strong rope and one 2 by 6 redwood board cut
two feet long with four holes drilled through it,
two holes spaced evenly on each end.
 
These three parts all tied together with one
symmetrical square knot under the seat and
two brotherly looking bowline knots one on each
end of the seat with long tethers reaching straight
up to their cinch point hidden high in the tree.
 
A swing, such a simple thing. It became
the epicenter of my summer, especially on
those warm evenings when the house was so hot.
That was when I discovered that with consistent and
determined leg pumps, I could make the moon rise.
 
A swing, such a magical thing. Now as I secretly build
my first swing, I recognize the simplicity of that swing
built by my father. I now appreciate the genius of it. I now
sense the love crafted into it. Now I realize that it was
my father’s love that made the summer moon rise.
 
 
This poem first appeared in Eskimo Pie eJournal (February, 2016).
Used here with permission.

Swing and photo by Edward Ferri, Jr.