A piece of grass,
So steep and oddly situated,
That you feel one missed step,
Will send you toppling into the city skyline.
I used to sit on the bench swing,
My skinny legs feverishly kicking at the dome of the capital building.
With one gutsy breath, I'd topple off of the swing and roll down the hill.
Grass stains, bruises, brush burns were all totally worth the thrill.
We carelessly ran back and forth across its ledge,
The hill swallowed a glut of our frisbees.
The park was almost always quiet,
My peaceful escape from the noisiness of my household.
A place where I was elevated above the city,
I felt like it elevated my writing as well.
Its view was far more beautiful than the park itself.
I'll admit I brought a few boys to that spot,
How could I resist?
But I don't really remember those rendezvous,
What I remember is jumping off those swings... and finding peace.