remembrance

Photo by Rowan Heuvel on Unsplash

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.