Karin Andersen


Swinging through space tip-tilting my legs almost over my head, the mountain upside down behind me at the apex, a dizzy gasp and plunge back to the earth. I pull on the chains, swing harder, up and back, testing the limit of my fear. Words swing in giddy arcs past  my eyes, through my head, escaping in a drop and fall, swinging back to the earth, up to the sky. A leaf falls to the ground, a gentle flutter. The child yells, suspended on the rope, daring fear. Will my words swing on a rope of caution or fly free? Can they swing unfettered and let go?
Swing free as a gypsy’s skirt, bright and bold, swing as I pirouette, colours flirting, words laughing. Words dance, words are free, words swing from my pen and land on the paper, a necklace of bright beads swinging from my neck, speaking joy, saying ‘look at me’. Words swing from my earrings and drop into the silence, each one spreading ripples out to waiting ears.
Swing like a horse’s tail, flicking, twitching, impatient sometimes, sometimes just a rhythm of breath and heartbeat. My heart swings in my chest, my breath swings down and back and meets the air.
The swing of hips that strut down a path, words proud and alive that speak to your eyes, to your feet, to your heart and to your breath.


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