Glider

9 Apr

by Nancy Scott

I lust after its single feet
brought from Alabama
to Kutztown’s summer festival
where I’m invited by the builder
as if on his veranda,
“Sit with me on the wider,
two-person model.”
 
Motion benevolent,
bench and arms
hand-carved mahogany;
comfort without cushions.
No squeaking, no splinters;
wood silk-smooth like the glide
he swears weather or age won’t hurt.
 
“Seven hundred eighty-three to ship,”
says the velvet Southern voice
with its twinkle of angelic craftsman
and knowing entrepreneur who drawls,
“Take my card.”
 
Just the light push toward memory
of a backyard hammock
that saved me in childhood,
toward a lawn swing
that slung off my adult grief,
toward knowing I might still go
so many wide-arced places
moving safely without struggle
or a cane
in motion of love and art
closer to cloud-fur
on my third-floor balcony.
 
I still have his card.

 

Nancy Scott, Easton, PA, is an essayist and poet. She is blind.  Her over-500 bylines have appeared in magazines, literary journals, anthologies and newspapers, and as audio commentaries.  Her third chapbook, co-authored with artist Maryann Riker, is entitled “The Nature of Beyond.”

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