Elegy for Summers at my Grandparents’ Pond

There was a time when I ran

faster than that red lab pup.

I scooped her up like a child;

I was one myself.

There was one June when I promised

I would learn to do a cartwheel.

I was more than content

to tumble through fields anyway.

There was a time when I lived

my entire life outdoors,

scaling trees and jumping wildly

into icy pond-scum waters.

Crawling out hands and knees,

up to the elbow in mud, soft in my fist.

I ran toward my father, desperate

to touch my hands to his clean skin.

That old dog is dead and gone now.

She outpaced me, but not for too long.

Copper faded to silver and too-big paws grew heavy.

Nothing more to be done.

No more swimming

No more running, tumbling

No more hands

No more time