Our fates, delicate.
Strung on a single strand of spider web.
Like that child soaring with glee high up on a swing.
Next moment crying, hurt; in utter devastation.
With a ring of mourners.
Kids and caregiving grandparents trying to comfort her painful flightlessness.
But even if she knew of this moment in advance.
Shouldn’t she have been just as joyful on the upswing?