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memories, ghosts, dreams 93 I Want to Ask You Jessica de Koninck Do they ride motorcycles in heaven? like the Suzuki you drove to Cape Cod and met me in the middle of the night, or the BMW you rode with your brother from France to Egypt, then from Nevada to California to bury your father, or the one you saw crash and the rider quivered on the car hood where he landed, and you did not ride after that? Your bike remains in the garage. I have not moved it. Maybe you get a new Harley in heaven. Doesn’t need gas. Never breaks down. Easy Rider, I hope you chose a Ducati, your favorite, something with class, expensive, or an Indian, sleek and speedy, with deco letters, the kind they don’t make anymore. Perhaps it has a Cupid face and heart-shaped fenders like the Valentine you drew for me. I kept that too. Better than wings I think, a two stroke, or a four stroke, faster, more comfortable, more maneuverable. You can park it outside. Wings would be clumsy, weigh you down. Not like a bike. Your helmet, your saddlebags, your black leather jacket, I kept everything. You still flew away. ...

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