hot metal ladders into the
bee-sting sun

i am the ghost body 
swaying
in the big-kid swings-- 
we all thought we could kick
above the trees &
we were all scared of loosing
control of flight & flipping
over the metal bar at the top--
all of our fathers pushed us
higher & higher & higher
& we closed our eyes & for a moment
were hot & deliciously angry 
enough to be the sun--
they have been taking apart
the park i grew up in bone
by bone-- & with each vertebrae
of monkey bars pulled loose we're
losing chances to crawl
back up to the sun--
i was 6 the first time
i climbed all the way up the
rotini metal slide-- cork
screwed into the jugular of
the fever sky
& i felt trapped-- hot
throat to slide down on or
the metal stairs the whined
like the faces of snare drums
when you walked on them--
drummer girl made a rhythm
to rock each cluster of metal bone--
the merry-go-round &
the straight-teeth jungle-gyms--
above me the sky was angry 
like the fresh wound of a bee
sting on my stomach & i 
felt like i could just stay there--
yank monkey bars from the clouds
& sway on rungs over
the entire town--
take a rest on the roof-top 
of the house where we used to live
on main street-- the one
with the little balcony where
my father taught me how to 
count the lightning's distance after
if roars--
they taking apart this play ground
bone
by stubborn bone & when i return
the metal slide is nothing but
an obelisk & the trees mourn the
roller-skating rink
where all the stray cats in the town
used to live beneath & the
park still wears the scattered tattoos
of all its lovers on back wall of
the band shell & in each cement bathroom
stall-- on a tree near the baseball field
my brother & i carved our
initials with a dull pencil into a wooden
poll holding up the wires feeding the stadium
lights-- we wanted to be part of this
place-- wanted to remember what it
was like to be able to be tall
enough from the top of the slide
to dangle so precariously above
town-- our father called down from the
foot of the slide & told us we could do
it-- we could let loose our bodies
& be swallowed--
the sun was angry & alone that night
that the park lost most of its bones
& now when i return i mourn
her body with the trees & the ghosts
of all the brothers & sisters
& fathers & babysitters & bathroom stall
lovers & band shell children attempting
to last forever--
write me a song for snare drum face--
i'll hum it when i climb to sit
on the bar above
where the ghost children sit
in big-kid swings-- push me higher
push me higher
i want to be part of the sun--
i want to slide down
your throat like a bee sting--