The Vibrant Channeled Creator

Schwinn


by George Bilgere

One day my mother astonished me


by getting astride my bike,


the heavy old balloon-tired Schwinn


I used for my afternoon paper route,


and pedaling away down the street,

skirt flying, hair blown back,

a girl again in the wind and speed


that had nothing to do


with pulling double shifts at the hospital,


or cooking meatloaf, or sewing up my jeans,

the old bike carrying her away


from my father dead of booze,


and her own nightly bottle


of red wine in front of the news.

She flew down the road so far


I could barely see her,


then slowly pedaled back to me,


and stepped off the bike, my mom again.
 
“Schwinn” by George Bilgere from Blood Pages. University of Pittsburgh Press © 2018.