It’s the first one with wheels
that you carry around.
Before, it was all stuffed love and puff.
They would fold into your face
as you sang, fit into the space
between the sheet and your shoulder.
Now they sit, forgotten,
in the corner near the bars.
Spinning wheels that remind me of my brother
before life and beer and beards,
noises traveling to the upstairs
like cartoon radio cars and trucks,
an entire world created from rotation
Sarah Ghoshal, a poet, professor, mother, runner and feminist, earned her MFA from Long Island University in Brooklyn and has published two poetry chapbooks. Her work can be found in such publications as Red Savina Review, Cream City Review, Reunion: The Dallas Review and Whale Road Review, among others. She lives in New Jersey with her happy little family and her faithful dog Comet, who flies through the air with the greatest of ease. You can learn more about her at www.sarahghoshal.com or find her on Twitter, @sarahghoshal