The park, by Daniela Nunnari
We brought you here today,
even though it rained,
even though you didn’t sleep
and wouldn’t eat your lunch.
We brought you here,
to walk through willows with water hens,
to wave at dogs and dodge the duck poo,
to stamp your feet in muddy puddles
and hunt for gruffalo in the mini woods.
We pushed you on the swings
next to love struck teenagers and mums on mobiles.
We waited while you refused to come down the slide
and couldn’t help but laugh at your tired tantrums on the way out.
We rushed you past the
long necks of geese, hissing
as we neared their young.
Just more protective parents.
We met a squirrel named Nutkin
and picked some buttercups
while the bored ice cream man waited,
engine always running.
And then we saw two boys on the bridge,
arms outstretched, nervous laughs,
covered in milk white doves.
We stopped, to watch,
as they trusted each other just enough,
for a few moments of contact.
Your eyes widened, you smiled, and then you ran ahead,
distracted by leaves and sticks and fluffy ducklings.
We put you in the car, with dirty shoes
and sticky faces from 99s
and you said bye bye to the birdies
in the car park as we left.
Copyright the author and first published by Friends of Rowntree Park 2015.