When we didn’t have a car

We walked a lot (which goes without saying)

The air was crisp and cleaned our lungs and made us smile

And we went to the library often

So we read and filled our little hearts with wild adventures.

We stayed home and baked pies with the apples that fell into our yard

And stained our mouths purple from blackberries.

And of course, we felt really grateful when a friend invited us to the movies, the mall—hell, the grocery store—if it bought us a ride in their car.

 

When we didn’t have a car

We dreamed of road trips we would take

When we looked at the clouds we’d see Cadillacs and Buicks and Fords

And close our eyes and breathe in the sweet scent of exhaust

And leather interior.

 

When we didn’t have a car

I still felt so lucky with life

My mom loved us ferociously

We played. We created great things. Filled our young brains with knowledge.

We curled around the fire together and read and sang and slept

And were lucky to be (always) the closest family I have ever known.

We laughed. We dreamed. We loved madly.

 

When we didn’t have a car

It didn’t really matter

Because we had eachother.