Emma Atkins
Small Freedom
‘Have you got her?’
‘No, do you have her?’
I was fumbling with catching the errant, rolling water bottle.
Mikey was sliding the car seat back into place.
She was running.
Zigzagging down the forest path.
Wind in her hair and hair in her mouth.
Full-speed ahead. Giggling like a wild thing.
Hyena set free from the trap of baby reigns.
Lightning in a yellow parker.
We’re running, too, sprinting after that joyful menace.
Mikey catches her hood, tugs her to a stop in Wiley Coyote fashion
and they both double over, panting for breath.
She’s laughing, joy of freedom in her lungs,
showing off the new snaggle-tooth that’s poking through her gums.
We’re sighing in relief–overcome by thoughts of what could have been.
Down a way is a fast-flowing stream.