Michelle Johnson

Under a yellow slide-

Sunlight and shadows mingling together to make artwork on my bare feet.

The smell of blooming forsythia bushes and the hot, thirsty earth.

The tickle of bugs crawling over my seemingly mountainous hands made of flesh and bone.

Dirt stuck in my fingernails, and sprinkled in my hair.

Now, time has withered the play structure’s appeal.

It sits, lonely and abandoned,

Covered in overgrown weeds and discarded plastic toys,

Long forgotten over the years.

No longer a haven of imagination and fun;

My body too big,

And my mind too busy.

It was a world where I could be anything or anyone.

A treasure hunter, examining every dazzling flake of mica that could be found in my very own jewel mine.

An astronaut, exploring the strange environment of my newly discovered planet.

A scuba diver.  Splash! 

Time to swim into the depths of the ocean to study a rare species of fish that only I knew about.

A chef, making concoctions by crushing the spherical clumps of mud that had escaped destruction from earlier days of play.

Or just a kid, playing in my backyard under a yellow slide,

Faded by the sun.