Something I saw this weekend brought back a memory from my childhood and inspired a poem.
The green Mustang
that screamed around the corner
brought back memories of my brother’s
green CCM bicycle
with the two-toned seat.
Even though he was told not to
he gave us rides on the handlebars
his little sisters
we took turns laughing
with wind in our faces.
Down the road,
to the Gothicky Anglican Church
that made us think it was haunted,
that no one we knew attended,
then back to our house.
Our church was more modest
a simple wooden church painted white
walkable, near the center of town
where our older sister would be married
in just a few days.
I saw the green mustang again
stopped by police on the corner
a few blocks away
they stood and talked for a while
then they let them go.
I recalled my brother’s bike again
and my sister’s foot
caught in the spikes
ruining the new shoes
she was to wear to the wedding.
The green mustang will disappear
from my memory
but the green bicycle has become
a family legend
along with my sister’s foot.
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