Broken Chain

As we walk these old roads, we won’t look toward the elephant
walking between us. We speak of the puppies
your dog is expecting, of our children,
our backaches, our husbands—yours,
in a wheelchair, mine, finally home
from the hospital. The elephant
has fever, a dry cough we pretend
not to hear, a rash that spreads
to those who come near. Only one of us
dreads the air we all share.
                          We go back forty years.
Isn’t it strange, we say, that we are somehow, already,
here—soft jaw lines, wrinkles, memories
older than the grown-up girls we thought we were
when we spent babysitting money on Levi’s
and pizza. We rode our bikes everywhere, no helmets
required, the wind whispering our hair.
Remember peddling through the woods
all day, those mossy trails, the boulders
we stopped to climb, bigger than elephants? Remember
that slope straight down to the lake—the jutting root,
me whipped over the handlebars, my breath
knocked out?
                          You dabbed blood from my nose,
then pushed your good bike beside me
and my broken one, three hours
to get home. Remember how close
the air felt, both of us dripping
with August sweat. How you didn’t leave
me behind, and I didn’t worry you might.
How we laughed as we walked, the whole world
on our tongues.

*

Jennifer L Freed’s collection When Light Shifts, exploring themes of identity, health, and care-giving, was a finalist for the Sheila Margaret Motton Book Prize and, in the 2025 Eric Hoffer Awards, was a finalist for the Medal Provocateur, was short-listed for the Grand Prize, and earned second place in the Legacy Non-fiction category. Recent poetry appears in Atlanta Review, ONE ART, Rust and Moth, Sheila-Na-Gig, Vox Populi, and the anthology, What The House Knows. Please visit Jfreed.weebly.com