Whisper

funny how you mask yourself
for their protection
and i wear the button
proudly on my jacket,
picture-whispering
my beliefs for all to see.

when your thoughts
bubble up out of you
in an eruption of disparity
from the tight-necked clothes
you’ve kept around you,
the lava stings my view
of who i thought you were.

you wait for molten rock
to form as ash settles,
but i am trapped underneath
the red flow from your mantle,
unable to break through the crack
in the crust you chose to expose,
unable to even whisper what i see.

Training for the Iron Horse Bicycle Classic

If you have decided to take the plunge and commit yourself to gaining 6000 feet in elevation while you race the Durango-Silverton train fifty miles to the top of a mountain, follow these steps to have a successful bicycle event.

1. Plan to train for at least fourteen weeks, at least six days a week.
2. Set your alarm for 4:30 a.m. Don’t push the snooze button. Ever.
3. Put on your appropriate bicycle gear. If you are riding on a trainer in your house, you’ll need bike gloves, bike shorts, and a decent pair of sneakers. If you’re riding outside in the winter, wear all of the above and add long underwear, bike pants, two long-sleeved bike jerseys, warmer gloves, a hat, and a helmet.
4. Mount your bicycle and, if you’re riding a trainer, set it for the highest level of resistance, and shift your derailleur to the highest possible gear. If you’re riding outside, map out a course that includes a circle with huge, steep hills in almost all directions.
5. Ride for at least fifteen miles for five days a week, and on the sixth day, ride for twenty-five, twenty-seven, twenty-nine, etc., until you reach fifty on the twelfth Saturday of training.
6. Taper off your training by ten percent between weeks twelve and thirteen so that your muscles have time to rest and build up.
7. In week fourteen, ride only three days for fifteen miles each time.
8. Drive to Durango. You’re ready to climb a mountain!

Heat

from pedals that won’t stop
for an hour battle uphill,
dry air pumping out of vents
trying to stave off winter,
muscles taut on my thighs
and hard-as-rocks calves,
the heat emanates,
even after sliding off the bike.

a lukewarm shower rinses
off bits of sweat, but it pops back
on my upper lip, my neck,
before i’ve even finished drying,
a reminder of how hot it will be,
how endlessly the pressure will build
as the heat of a May morning
rides with me to the top of the mountain.

Music

the leaves left from fall
dance across our patio,
their crisp skeletal skins skidding
to the howling background hymn.

this same howling harmony
danced across the road today,
beating me down to my bones
as i pushed toward a quieter tune.

trapped inside a fluorescent prison,
i couldn’t quite find the melody
that with a few angry notes
the wind whipped out of me.

perhaps you stand somewhere
on the other side of the sky,
unable to hear the song i sing
amidst the howling, haunting music.

Writing My Bike

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.

Seasoning

it is recipe,
apple,
zucchini,
pumpkin
season.

the kitchen smells
like cinnamon
concocted with cream
and nutmeg, cloves
pungent with their
pinch in the pie,
spiced apple skins
and pumpkin shells
lining the counter tops
and floors,
sticky with sweetness,
sticky with sweat.

hours at the stove steaming
and prodding and pulling,
wafts of breads,
pumpkin glop,
pies perfectly rounded,
pot roast waiting
for the midday meal.

it is recipe,
apple,
pumpkin,
zucchini,
bread,
pie,
harvest
season.

Subsidy

this is just to say
i have taken all the money
from our account
in order to buy wholesome food
for our children
for us
for one week
and i wish
that the government
would subsidize health
rather than
corn, soybeans, and wheat
so that perhaps
for more than a week
we could know
just what we were putting
into our mouths,
our stomachs,
our lives.

Use What Fits

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)

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.

Sunday Eight

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.