“Come on,” the mother tugged at loose, plaid sleeves,
The other daughter watched across the street.
My brakes in anticipation squeaking,
Glances from all three plus me at the wheel.
A quiet intersection of our lives.
She then waved, urging me to drive around,
At this moment, more in command of me
Than the daughter too scared to cross the street.
And two parallel lines met just then,
Touching briefly before we all moved on.