by Jennifer Smith

Created on: August 17, 2009   Last Updated: August 18, 2009

Ride

I can't believe your baby teeth are falling

like words, new words from the endless sound of muffled excitement

that sing to me in two word sentences, and sign language-

all at once I am aware, that your curls flutter in the wind

like flags of freedom

interwoven in the fabric of white paper houses like neighborhoods

the sound of a Monday or

maybe a Wednesday

the birds, the wind

the motor roaring, rotating life to life

red Pontiac Grand Pre going one direction

black Ford F1 50 heading the other-

which one do you go with?

I watch you leave me for a second,

going free with whoever just zoomed by

and I want to come with you

as if you sense this, in a moment,

you come back, to me and

I breathe in and out

and your eyes catch mine

asking that question, the ones that I can't bear to hear

the ones that go like,

mom, when its time to let me run,

will you let me run as fast as I can?

mom, when there is a wall in front of me,

will you let me climb it?

mom, when there is a vision, just beyond my thoughts

a dream, that I can't put my hand around yet

but I can reach towards it and feel my muscles stretch

my wings spread-

mom, when its time-

will you let me fly?

I nod my head and you turn once more

to the open road-

which car will go by next,

and where will it take you?

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