remembrance
for Art, who is soaring.
i remember me, 19 summers ago,
chubby and small,
swinging up onto my father’s shoulders,
singing “upsy-daisey.”
i remember walking.
Without a car, it’s how he got around,
got away.
i remember train tracks,
the bridge overhead on our way
to the post office.
i remember not knowing
we lived on the wrong side of them.
i remember small hands buried
in his flannel collar,
squealing from my perch,
frightening pigeons off of theirs.
i can see them
a disgruntled cloud, flickering
grey and white.
i can see me
letting go for just a moment
arms flapping in praise
of flailing wings.
This is my remembrance,
19 winters later,
when i dream of flying
without knowing why.