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Summers of Nostalgia

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 
10 cent Popsicles and quarter bag of chips are relentless
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

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