Longing to be Free

Are we all born longing to be free?

It’s how I was made, deep inside of me,

A yearning to be untethered and unseen.

Hidden by the the towering pines and oaks and hollies,

Discovering and exploring, risk-taking, danger-seeking,

Pretending to be - free.

We called it running away, we called it going for a hike,

Foot to pavement or to pedals, pushing out, towards the light

Filtering down through rustling leaves, unrolling the blanket in the circle of trees 

where the grass was soft, ancient sentinels stood guard, and we were free.

Deeds and titles and chain-link fences meant nothing to us then,

The places we belonged, wherever our feet found to tread.

There were dirt paths to follow, gravel roads beckoning. 

Where did they go, where would they lead? I had to know.

It felt important that grown-ups not know, it was a top-secret mission

To get from here to that island, across Flint Creek, beyond that ridge of green.

My crew-cut brothers, one bigger, one smaller, were my comrade-in-arms,

Hands reaching from above to pull me up, arms from below straining to lift

My foot, until I was skyward, unleashed from terra firma, ensconced in 

The tower of bark and branches, balancing but free.

Some sweaty days we burrowed down like moles, shovels our weapons.

Feeling the damp chill of the earth, where several feet down, candles were lit, 

casting our shadows on the plywood cave roof. 

Our stomachs called us home, eventually, or maybe the slant of the sun,

We trudged back to the land of Adults, and Hot Meals, and Bear Hugs, 

and Glories of Stories Told, and Clearing the Table Chores, and Clean Beds,

And goodnight, sleepy head.

This was Before, you see. No one had thought thought to attach to children

Things, electronic, beeping, flashing, pulsing, tracking, 

connected-to-extra-terrestial Things. Now they tell us they will keep us in touch,

Just open up your wallet, put your soul on airplane mode, hand over your child,

Shackle them with straps made of silicone rubber, encircling the wrist in comfort,

For the small price of their eyes. That’s all it takes, they tell us.

That’s all it takes to keep them safe and make them free.

I see it in them too, my scaling, daring offspring. Impossibly early, only months under their belts,

Already seeking the heights, the boundaries, the frontiers of their existence.

From the security of my lap, scampering towards the unknown, and now it’s more like

Scurrying into gullies and through brambles and up grapevines beyond the boundaries of

Castle Park, and when daddies call, something urges them further in, not right back out.

And deep within me a contentment settles then, because I Refuse,

I Refuse to attach to my children an extension of my observation at all times,

And something’s happening when arms reach down to help them rise, arms not mine,

And they wipe their brow and take in the sights from up there, and feel they’re free.