Wrists are scraped slightly on warm metal bars
kissed by the sunshine. Somewhere, clickity clackety plastic things numbs the street air
in electric buzz from spokes creating musical noise in its own rhythm. I turn back to look at her,
she smiles. Shirt ballooned by wind
ushering me to continue before I slow her down. Our mission of
in the haze of summer
and sweltering sun.
memories now a blur. Mommom calls us,
her voice a beacon in the city of
asphalt and pavement which we spill upon and she immediately nurses.
street lights fade to
replace lightning bugs abuzz in
twirling into our smiles
of small conversation and popped bubble gum
defying gravity on fire escapes
dangling toes a reminder of our landmark. Finally, a small breeze
pollen upon dewy knees
to greet us
summers of nostalgia
birthed from bike spokes.
Love you, Vina.