Silver flash in low light,

darting between trees in a dull roar,

faster, louder, a bright red gleam

as I perch on a high seat, speeding down

a dusty road, throttling a cool 50 miles per hour,

and I am a goddess of speed,

Artemis, Apollo, race me, it’s 1922

and I’m still vibrant with fear and grief

but full of life. No second war has worn me down,

the terror of that Great War is beneath poppy fields

and I’m streaking by, fleeing fear

and dressed in red, triumphant and terrified and mad

with the want to outrun everything once again.