Friday, May 7, 2010

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

Lindsay Riggs Brown

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