No shoes and a glossy red helmet, I rode on the back of my dad’s Harley at seven years old. Before the divorce. Before the new apartment. Before the new marriage. Before the apple tree. Before the ceramics in the garbage. Before the dog’s chain. Before the koi were all eaten by the crane. Before the road between us, there was the road beneath us, and I was just big enough not to let go: Henno Road, creek just below, rough wind, chicken legs, and I never knew survival was like that. If you live, you look back and beg for it again, the hazardous bliss before you know what you would miss.
Copyright © 2015 by Ada Limón. Used with permission of the author. |
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About This Poem
“Oh to go back to the days ‘before we knew better.’ In this poem I wanted to capture that thrill of absolute freedom before the great leveling fear of death pierced the mind. I miss that motorcycle.” —Ada Limón
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Ada Limón is the author of Sharks in the Rivers (Milkweed Editions, 2010). She teaches at New York University, Columbia University, Queens University of Charlotte, and the Provincetown Fine Arts Work Center. Limón splits her time between Lexington, Kentucky; Sonoma, California; and Brooklyn, New York.
Photo Credit: Jude Domski
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Most Recent Book by Limón
(Milkweed Editions, 2010)
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"Imperatives" by Marilyn Buck
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"The Past" by Michael Ryan
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"My Childhood" by Matthew Zapruder
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Poem-a-Day
Launched during National Poetry Month in 2006, Poem-a-Day features new and previously unpublished poems by contemporary poets on weekdays and classic poems on weekends.
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