it’s a sacred route
grandparent/child walk
through clattering city down Locke St.
where workers tear up concrete streets
machine a giant blade cutting through to nature
cross bridge over
tracks it’s necessary to stop
and pick up small rocks
put them in backpack little
scallops to save for later feast of stones
run up and down
a ramp gaze at the train passing
underneath with all the spring garbage on
bank and then past the dog park where gnathic
battles are fought with growls and chase and cluster
then there it is
small park with orange slide
age three mind entirely enraptured
he climbs up tall ladder strong legs lifting
and sits the
slide down undulating
at bottom he gets up
to weave a path back to ladder
up again and down this time saying
bump bump he wears a shiny velour sweater
with orange designs as if he was dressed for this place
run back to ladder
and down bump bump and
back up again this becoming ritual
we gorge on rites wiring our brains in serpentine
structures there is a climbing wall swing set monkey bars
but it’s the slide and we are smiling audience to this holy
repetition
