Aug 15


And at the end, my legs feel different.
Calm and relieved of the dull ache from the hours’ meanders.
Half-dried signs reading Bunnies For Sale and rickety roller coasters drove the earth beneath my feet, among this wonder-seeking sun.
But for now, I am entranced by the slow lull that still consumes my body.
And in my 10-year-old mind, I am graced with an unaware rarity. Despite the rush of desire and charm, I rest still, breathless, in my whole.

A few moments before, my heated footing eased its way over the wooden steps.
Eyes cold to the breeze and searching for the beautied thrill stationed highest on its rod.
Ornate metal horses. 
Pink saddles with worn edges, cold in spring, and striking in summer.

I was told by Baba on our way over, that the height of the horses is all quite the same.
But despite his words to comfort my delicate hopes, I still rode with some pride of sweet, sticky honey. 
That I sat atop the careening, ever-current bob, pushing with strong hooves breaths above my almost five feet.

The springing of a lively city. Smiles drew up and down in the humid air, and ponytails winded as spirited tassels, impatient sprites.
And as I readjusted my grip, above popcorn and fried dough, the rich smell of metallic unfurled from the iron post.
I was grounded in the slow givings of these two minutes of bliss.
Spiraling with the languor of waters weaving, I looked out to see Baba. Pushing aside the gentle current, I waved to him.
My sight blurred with dilutes of elation and I was encircled in a brilliant colony of colors.
Motion, breath, and dream.

I let the carousel speak to me. Not the cheery cries of chalky melodies from the speakers overhead,
But a slow call of chipped wood and times simplicity. Voices that have worn themselves for all their years; melding with the merriments surrounding.