Cornwall Park

Walking through my childhood path

In Cornwall Park,

The sun sweeps shadows through the gravel

And knots of Autumn leaves,

Teasing me with memories

Of leaping, spinning through

The crackly days,

The golden haze long past.

I see a small child on a pink bicycle,

The handlebars decorated with silver ribbons,

And the image seems so simple, perfect,

And it makes my body full of thought

And muscles and arteries and experiences

Feel so heavy, so cumbersome.

Fly free, I want to scream.

Ride down the hills and do not brake,

Do not wake up and grow older,

Do not realise that your dreams

Are unrealistic, that you will play tricks

On yourself, that you and your mind

Are perhaps your greatest barrier

To the piles of leave still at your feet,

And you are no easy feat to overcome.

And, thinking all these things, overcome

As I was in my meandering self,

I did not notice when I twisted an ankle,

Fell down to the ground, purple grass

Pillowy around me, shimmering lights,

White daisy petals, high sunlight,

I sighed and did not rise, reclined right there,

And spun gold flowers into my hair

Because right here I grew up,

And right here I wish to remain,

Steal back time if I can,

Steal, at least, a day.