Like Riding a Bike

There was a time

when we both had

mothers & bikes,

& spun around

your neighborhood

on two wheels

to get away

from them. Well,

I was getting away

from my mother,

who thought yours

would be with us

as we zipped

around corners,

chugged to the top

round-cheeked

& unsure

how to brake,

all downhill speed,

handlebars swiveling

out of control

& before I knew it

my body took flight

right into a mailbox.

I was fine but my Schwinn

was busted up, & you,

well I forgot

about you over time.

Maybe my mother

forbid us

from biking

together, or we

learned to drift

without crashing,

nothing to remind

us when to cry

& so we just kept

peddling until

we thought to look

When I found

out last month

your mother had died,

my own

only said

how sad.

For days, all

I could see

was her face

when we finally

returned to your house:

first scolding us

my crooked-seat bike

up the driveway,

how she ran to me—