Poetry

Bound.

I jumped over a hill today.

One of those great rolling ones

that merge with the ocean

just out of sight.

 

I did it in one spring.

At least, that’s what I keep telling myself.

 

I don’t want to talk about the chains.

 

They wrap around my arms,

squeezing

the flesh

so that it bulges.

 

I used

to point at them,

rattle the links in their faces.

But always

they would claim

they couldn’t see.

 

Now I stare into the distance,

leaping across fields

and dipping my toes

into the cool water of the lake.

 

They can’t see the chains;

they can’t see my escape.

 

The air

might not

be fresh on my journeys.

I don’t mind.

 

There’s freedom there,

and I claim it.

 

 

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