We sit on the swing, you and I,

you devising a poem, me watching the ripples go by,

you thinking about tone and beat,

me thinking about cars and rules of the street.

You would pause and count syllables.

I would continue writing and listing,

listening to my music and the birds’ songs.

You and I, me and you, us two.

Two members of a family. Fifty -five years apart,

but close nonetheless.

You teaching me and learning from me

both at the same time.

Isn’t growing up bitter-sweet?

                                                                              Kodi Wells

                                                                              9/15/13