Breathless

The swing creaks as I rock back and forth
testing the rusty hinges with my heavy limbs
and his empty china doll bundle.
He smells new, soft
too new and soft to be breathless. 
I kick up red dirt into storm clouds
and if he could, I know he would sneeze
I would smile and laugh.  I rock again
more angrily, not willing to give up my china doll
to the earth that seems all too eager to receive him. 
The red dirt sighs, dispersing as I dig my sneakers
through the clouds to the top of my arc,
calling softly for him.  I do not give as the hinges
protest and I swing, cradling my beautiful doll in my lap,
and I swing, wildly to that peak,
and I swing, trying desperately to escape the dirt that rises again
each time I dive down to the earth,
until finally I am there at the top of the highest arc
and we both are far enough from the earth to be     
breathless.

by Julia Bond
12th grade, Mid-Pacific Institute