a little oven of a house
     on a sand lot
  off base in
an overheated state
was where I first felt it,
     the certainty that I could live
other ways       in other places
            and be free.
Swinging on a swing
            under a mimosa’s
pink stars
                        I was
inhabited             airborne
       no one’s daughter.
Fortune swings both ways.
    I’m not immune to loss or hazard.
But, from that day       that “I do”
     exchanged with something
in and all around me
   I have been the lucky one,
            beloved of the gods.
Today, much further north and decades later,
   each burning bush has one red leaf,
         crickets stridulate their wings
  half-heartedly.             We all know
        what is coming.
                        The air today is cool.
Let’s call it fresh.
S. Robbins, from Readings

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