After Hours

I cut through the playground at night.

It was late. I wanted the way through,

a shortcut, something quick and right.

The equipment was silver and bright

under the streetlight. The swing set too

hung empty, the chains pulled tight.

There was a shoe in the sand, white-

and-red, the kind that lights when you

step in it. Forgotten. The sight

stopped me. I thought about plight,

how things get left, how they stay true

to absence. I didn't fight

the feeling. I walked through that night

faster than I needed to.

Some spaces aren't made for your light.