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.