Banner, Wings, and Keel

 
Hand-in-hand, hand over hand; hand over heart—
        how we move through the life we’re given, to keep  
from premature unraveling. I remember green days  

        dazzled with light, the child I was astride a tricycle 
with red and white streamers dangling from each handlebar.  
	In a nearly faded picture, my mother bends toward me. 

We both look in the direction of the camera, which is  
        another name for the future at which we flash our well-
pressed smiles. Later, let loose on the grass, I behead my own 

       share of dandelions, surreptitiously nibble on white 
clover, hiding my disappointment at not finding a four-leafed prize. 
       But I remember the herb-sour fascination on my tongue; how

every flower was a globe studded with tens of tiny flowers, each 
with its own small standard and two side petals enclosing the keel.