Zebra Seeking Spoons

She finds it in the quiet field,

rusted chains, one seat askew—

a swing that once knew laughter

but now only holds still air.

She climbs aboard, careful,

as if memory might shatter

beneath her small hands.

One chain groans,

the other sighs,

and she waits—

not for flight,

but for the feeling

that someone might come

to push.

Wind brushes her cheek

like a forgotten lullaby.

She kicks her feet,

just once,

and the swing creaks forward—

not far,

but enough.