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Poetry
Flight of Fancy



As a college graduation gift it was
First-rate.

Two years. Ride, my mother said,
Everyone should have a flight of fancy,
once.

She watched from the rail,
on sagging bleachers,
clapped,
held my gloves, bottles of water, sweat-mucked horse blankets.

I rode.

We ate in questionable diners
Whizzed by Alamo without stopping the
horse trailer.
We shopped Worth Avenue when
rain slopped the ring.

I rode, jumped. Higher.
The rest of the time,
she stayed home.

When it was all over,
when I got a job,
got a boyfriend,
got a different
Life.

she watched from the rail,
clapped
held my hand, my bouquet, my baby.

"I had my flight of fancy," she says.
I watch from the rail,
clap
my hand over hers.
I hold her walker, her pills,
her heart, our memories.

Ride, my mother said.



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