In our grief, we are like children.
We spend our grown-up money
on two bikes, in bright-ass orange,
as the salesman says.
We ride at dusk, the pavement
moving back in time, before we
knew your little love, greater than
all the love we’d known before.
There is no fear; I pedal harder,
harder. What is it to lose myself
now that I’ve lost you? I lean low
into the curves.
We ride our bikes at dusk like
children, the dappled haze of
dying sunshine tangling
in our hair.
Cristi Donoso Best is a foster mother and a speech therapist. She lives in Virginia. Her poetry has appeared or is forthcoming in Rattle: Poets Respond, The Threepenny Review, and Literary Mama.
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