The Motorcycle Queen

^{for Bessie Stringfield}

You said you took God with you to all 48 states.

You caroled your grief on an Indian Scout,

 

rode your Harley until the crowd forgot it was a motorcycle,

saw a stallion riding the track wall,

breaking for a field’s freedom.

 

You wanted a story you could tell

about surviving America on two wheels,

 

six years too early for the Green Book.

But I understand leaving.

I’ve been looking

 

                          to see the world.