her small body,
bruised or bloody,
back to Granny’s
or, worse still, having to call
an ambulance,
or take her to the hospital
with a broken limb
or a head injury.
Olivia pauses halfway up,
and looks at me curiously.
Is she disappointed in me?
“I can if you help me,” Olivia says.
My heart bursts with purpose:
I’m supposed to be helping
my little cousin to do things,
not discouraging her ambition.
I look around to see
if anyone else heard
what this sassy five-year-old said to me.
T pushes a giggling Sophia on a swing
at the other end of the playground.
“Higher! Higher!” she commands,
her voice carrying on the breeze.
“Okay, I’ll help you,” I say to Olivia.
I hold her by the waist
and help her to swing
from one monkey bar to the next,
and I keep her suspended in the air
when she loses her grip.
I want her to feel like she can fly.
