my fingers will be purple
the hills
roller-coaster-like
will come to an end
the breath escaping
in shadowy wisps
of early morning
will see the darkness fall
the sun rise
and this ride
will bring me
to one hundred twenty-five
in five days flat

i will remember
the cold
the stopping
the book ending
the music beginning
the day i won’t even miss
the frenectomy
the playground
the friend’s new baby
three girls vacuuming
sweeping
wiping glass

but the memory
will be in the purple skin
the fingers that made it
not the tight thighs
not the spinning tires
the fingers that made it through the cold
into the day
that begins like no other day.