Mimus Polyglottos

There is so much to fear. Mainly death, but other things too — divorce, a wasted life, the hatred of your children, serial killers — perhaps just death after all.

I stand in my back yard, putting yard trash in contractor bags — seventy cents a bag — bankruptcy, foreclosure, homelessness, hunger, death again.

There is an unnatural noise coming from the trees. I begin to come out of my temporary solipsism, and allow the earth again to enter my senses.

It is the sound of the metal swing set in the park down the street.

Reeeeeek - rook - reeeeeek - rook - reeeeeek - rook

It is the sound of the quiet thrill of falling - then shooting up - then falling again.

It is the sound of that electric tingle that begins at your anus, runs through your testicles, and ends somewhere in your intestines.

It is the sound of a life’s worth of swing set sensation — from the vacant animal joy of my dad’s “mega” pushes, to the searing panic of a broken arm flopping at my side.

Except there is no swing set in the trees. There is only a mockingbird reminding me, “do not be afraid.”