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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.