Only a Glimpse Rebecca Linton Round and round
we ran,
kicking up asthmatic
dirt devils
with our shoes
zippered tight
around an uncomfortable wad of change
given by women with low bosoms.

A new Tennis Ball,
neon against edible asphalt:
“I do not fear death!”
cried the child,
as she charged headlong into the stinky traffic
. where buses and ice cream trucks don’t stop for kids,
and the only citations are death and money.
I don’t see a difference, personally.
The impact was near
as she skirted telekinetically
the broad, flat finger of mortality.

To the crowd it was horizontal,
but this is what I saw:
God
that day lifted her up,
looking little down at tiny sneakers,
big coins burning in orbit,
far above knowing
Eath is a speck below heaven,
only to land on the other side—
adults shrieking that primal breathless noise.