day 17

she dreams of the pink swing set under a canopy
of leaves, shoes brushing colours of autumn

of mud slicked steps, rusted spoons and clear
plastic forks turned opaque from grimy hands

of lard-filled jars and broken glass,
glittering teeth hidden beneath tree shadows

of scratchy hay poking ankles and, below, sharp
metal just peeking through faded itchy yellow:

watching, waiting.