by CL Bledsoe

I think it was under the slides, so I steer
her to the swings. She’s never liked
that feel of weightlessness, the thin
strip of rubber chained down while she
is left to rise. She pedals a too small
tricycle someone left, runs across vacant
grass. There’s no sign he was here.
The sand pit might look less full. A guy
at work said he was in a Salvadoran gang,
or at least one has been leaving bodies
lately. The news said everyone was surprised
because this is such a nice neighborhood,
which is code for no Salvadorans live here.
I waited three weeks before her begging
overwhelmed my caution. There’s no
line, anymore, at least. She can take
as long on the monkey bars as she likes.

Stuff My Stupid Heart Likes by CL Bledsoe (co-author of and The Wild Word:

Get the Medium app

A button that says 'Download on the App Store', and if clicked it will lead you to the iOS App store
A button that says 'Get it on, Google Play', and if clicked it will lead you to the Google Play store