Whoosh! and you’re off.
A challenge between strangers,
with no word spoken.
You are not yet your mother,
your father in their practical shoes.
You wear your thin jacket
wide open
and it taunts like a red flag.
I am precariously balanced
on the slick track, freezing,
wheezing and careening behind
you.
I see my mother in the fat
of my chin, my father
in the moles that pepper
my skin.
I discover a new one each year.
So I dare to wear my jacket
wide open
and race you through the streets
of Berlin.
