Photo Story: Paper Moon

Astride the swing ride, sky opens, vast, deep, lavender. I should be scared, suspended in the air. But I’m not. There are no demands. No father to dissect, blame me for things the world has taken. No reminder of Mother, run off without a goodbye, a word of tenderness.

I wish I could hang all night. Swing on the moon. Slumber on a blanket of stars, flickering. Tender. Without weeping for the emptiness, hoping Dad’s rages would stop.

But they’d come for me. The world always takes. For now I hold on, as tightly as a child to a mother.