roller skates

by Lisa Caroline Friedman

Stiff-legged, arms jerking 

like bent wings struggling 

to catch air, we inched up the driveway

giving first flight to our identical 

twin gifts from Grandma Rose.

We were four feet bound

in hard white leather with pink 

wheels and toe stops. We found 

a jagged rhythm 

as our wheels rolled over 

pocked and pebbled pavement 

then hiccupped at the lips 

between slabs. We hugged 

parking meters to rest or stop

a fall then hit the playground 

where we skated between metal 

swings and mostly dirt 

fields. We skated until dusk

then back to the dreaded 

driveway, now downhill. I reached 

the bottom upright and waited 

but your wheels ran wild  

and you skated into me – 

my body, your stop. We fell 

and first I cradled you. Then I yelled

at you, embarrassed. You skated

while I fake-limped 

the rest of the way 

home. What I wouldn’t give

give to cradle you now.

Lisa Caroline Friedman (she/her) was born in Fort Belvoir, Virginia, grew up in New York City, and currently resides in Palo Alto, California with her husband, daughters, and thirteen year-old labradoodle. Her first published poem appeared in the March 2023 issue of Pink Panther Magazine. She will have two more poems published in the Fall 2023 issues of San Pedro River Review and Rat’s Ass Review. She received a BA in English from Stanford University and this winter, will begin Antioch University’s low-residency MFA in Creative Writing program.