biking

Writing My Bike

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it came to me in the summer.
Writing My Bike:
this should be the name of my new blog.
will i only write when i ride?
will i only ride when i write?

winter’s creeping in
with bitter cold mornings
that make my pedals run stiffly,
my layered legs tight with frost,
my mittened hands gripping
the first wisps of light on early mornings.

He may try, but Jack Frost can’t deter me.
i’ll be writing my bike to the top
of a mountain in May (racing a train),
and i need these legs to pedal me
through everything that will come
between now and then.

Bicyclist

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all i can see
as we drive home in silence
from a date
that we never get
that has allowed us no words
is the bicyclist
who races his pedals up the hill
nearly as fast as our pedals
can drive us
and how you,
you will never see
the beauty that i see.

Precision

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like a giant orange
squeezing its last juice
across the horizon
it outlines the
cookie cutter homes
against the
imminent black sky
with such precision
that i wish i could
reach across
and bring the brightness
straight to my heart.

Use What Fits

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i drank too much
and learned that i can fit
a day’s worth of clothes
a bungee cord
a pair of gloves
an oversized computer cord
a MacBook
and a six-pack of vanilla porter
in my saddle bag
(though the bike will tip if i let go).

this is a list poem
so let me add
that with the shower
the lack of wash cloths
and the realization
that towels were in the dryer,
he and i shared a single hand towel
to dry our dripping skin,
got out the exercise ball
and had us a real ball
(punny, right? it was.)

what could i fit in a Friday?
a five a.m. bike ride
seven classes
three 200-hundred-word posts
a happy two hours
with five friends at the bar
finishing my latest novel
dinner with my family
and love with my husband.

Wind (Personified)

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the wind tries to
dominate our day
but we pedal anyway

the wind beats up
giant clouds of dust
(to the pumpkin fest or bust)

the wind reaches out
to grab them from the air
but pumpkin launchers couldn’t care

the wind helps us
with a tailwind home
kicking up leaves wherever we roam.

In This World

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with the words
O my brothers
O my brothers
Anthony Burgess
stings my ears with
a new kind of violence
just as the wind
stings my skin
and the sun
stings the cold away
and before i miss it
i stop, the rogue farm
on one side of my
place in this world,
the corporate conglomerate
on the other,
and snap the photos
to record the moment:
2,000 miles in
not twelve, but eleven months,
the same day i discover
i’ve walked fifty in seven days
(108,688 steps)
and though they are numbers
(just numbers?)
they represent everything
that is possible,
that i believe,
that i thinkicanithinkicanithinkican
do in this world.

Sunday Eight

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autumn visited
for a few wind-chilly hours
today summer’s here.

a ride across town
with a strong daughter attached
is like a new day.

three banjos, a drum
and voices singing kids’ songs
make Sunday perfect.

bike jerseys aren’t cheap,
so it’s a good thing I’m small
and fit a child’s size.

your question is lost
but we can find an answer
if we look deeper.

these boys like their meat
as much as Isabella
ate super porridge.

Riona’s face grins
in my palm like an angel
wrapped up with love.

no one can mess with
Mythili, who already
knows all the books’ words.

The Last Star

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as children we wished on the first star
(i saw the last one this morning).
how would i know then
how early my legs could move,
taking me not into the sunset
but the sunrise,
the closest star of them all
hiding behind the horizon
while i wished, wished, wished
on that far-distant star
(the last star)
peeking out over peaks,
shining its light on my ride,
spinning my pedals,
spinning the world in its realm,
spinning its magic in my heart.

My Last One Hundred Miles

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for my last one hundred miles
i will
pound the pavement with
every last bit of angst
that aches to pour out
with the spin of my tires

for my last one hundred miles
i will
let loose the screaming soul
within my soul
and forget for a moment
why i am here

for my last one hundred miles
i will
be the dream i dreamt of me
chase the sun into the horizon
and allow the night to
envelop my desires

for my last one hundred miles
i will
pound the pavement with a plan
that will carry me to the top of
the mountain,
to the next one hundred,
one thousand,
two thousand miles.

Parts of Speech

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Nouns:
circles and chains
sunshine and wisps
pavement and dirt
grass and trees
giggles and smiles

Adjectives:
silver and black
warm and blue
smooth and rough
prickly and shady
bubbly and bright

Verbs:
pedal and spin
blare and float
pound and push
lie and relax
laugh and scream