Letting Go

Letting Go

On cool, Lilac scented mornings,
You ran behind me,
holding the back of my seat
while I pedaled,
Terrified, I screamed,
“DON’T LET GO!”
and you swore you never would.
But you did.

In warm summer’s drift,
we found
Indian arrowheads
and shards of cobalt sea glass
the color of your eyes.
By then I could ride alone.

In Indian Summer,
somehow,

you found a way
to let go of;
The Boston Red Sox; scotch on the rocks; salted peanuts;
and Jazz.

Lindsay Riggs Brown