The Swing

I wrote "The Swing" around age 18, about a daring girl who loved adventure but refused to let boys take advantage of her.

The Swing
by Michael R. Burch

There was a Swing
tied to a tall elm
that reached out over the river.

There, I used to send you flying
out into the autumn air
till you began to shiver,
then I’d gather you in again,
hugging you to keep you warm.

How I loved the scent of your hair
and the flush of your cheeks!
I’d dream of you for weeks
when you were at Vassar and I was at Mayer.

Then, come the summer,
how I loved to see your knee-length skirt
billowing about you,
revealing your legs,
aloed and darkly lovely,
and to feel your ample hips
—so soft, so full, so warm—
when I touched them,
“accidentally,” of course,
while swinging you.

You always knew,
I’m sure of that now.
And you never let me go too far.
But your kisses were warm.
Oh, I remember—your kisses were warm!

***

I’d often dream of undressing you,
and once, just once,
when I was helping you down from the Swing,
I touched your breast, and you paused.
Hurriedly, I unbuttoned your blouse as you stood
breathless, and with good cause,
after riding the Swing as wild as I swung you.

Your bra was Immaculate White,
your breasts warm and firm
beneath the thin material.
You said nothing until I flipped
your skirt up, then slipped
my fingers inside the waistband
of your matchless cotton panties
to feel your hips,
so full and so inviting,
and then your nether lips.

At which you said,
“That’s enough,” gently,
and it was.

***

Now I think of those days
and I wonder
why I ever let you go.

I remember one dark hour
when, standing in the snow,
you told me to take you
or to let you go.

I was a fool.
Proud, and a fool.
All you asked was for us to be married
after we finished school.
But I was a fool.

***

But I always loved you—
my wild risk taker!
My sweet gentle swinger of elms,
my lovely heartbreaker.

***

Now you’re a dancer,
and a fine one, I’m told.
I saw you, once, in men’s magazine.
You hair was still maple
with highlights of gold,
your eyes just as green.
But somehow you didn’t quite seem
the wild sweet rambunctious angel of my dreams
who’d defy men’s eyes
and the edicts of heaven
simply to Swing.