a reprieve

you whisper memories of childhood

of the metal burn from the playground slide

of the yellow swing that once sat in the backyard

of playing catch with tennis balls on a cracked asphalt road

it’s a flashback to feeling safe,

unburdened by living out in the world

of a time not fouled by stress or by spite

and so the low pitch of your voice in my ear mutters a reprieve

of lovely nostalgia and sweet memories