The first time I was brave,
I held the red rusted Radio Flyer handle tight
As if at any moment it would be snatched from my compact fingers
My dad looked me in the eyes
A sincere expression painted across his face
I smiled, showing two missing teeth
I nodded fast pretending to listen
To his lecture on how I must turn and stop the wagon
But I just waved the words away
And soon enough I was flying down a hill
The clouds morphed into one
As if swirling paint into one brown glob
My short hair blew in the wind
Like a fan on high
Not noticing the wheel that was coming loose
And when the board I had so much faith in swerved
Hitting an enormous oak tree
The kind of tree I used to climb for hours on end
I could hear my father’s running feet behind me
Clicking against the hot pavement that was scorched by the sun
Getting louder and louder as he approached
He looked me in the eyes
Just like he had before
But instead a troubled look
For his eyes were bigger and wrinkles formed on his forehead
He told me I was the bravest kid he knew, that he was proud, and I did my best
I smiled, then licked my lips
Cringing when
I tasted iron.