Precarious She’s at the age of scrapes and bruises; edges seem to find her face. The floor beneath her feet refuses not to wobble out of place. She’s at the age of tears to laughter, chortling through her blood and drool, careening onward moments after diving off a three-foot stool. She’s at the age of near disaster, toddling on the precipice. Unnumbered tragedies whiz past her, every one a narrow miss.
Swing Kids Just a couple of boys on the swings talking seven-year-old things: favorite Pokémon, what part of Zelda they’re on, stuff they both like to do outside, good places to hide, what schools they were at when the virus arrived. Things like that, like this chat doesn’t come as the first of its kind in a year, like hand-me-down fear can be shed like an oversized coat — like if launched from the swings, they’d float.
Coleman Glenn is a chaplain and assistant professor of religion at Bryn Athyn College in Bryn Athyn, PA where he lives with his wife and their four kids (plus four chickens and a dog). His poems have appeared or are forthcoming in Light, Autumn Sky Poetry Daily, THINK, and Trinity House Review.