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.
poetry
My Last One Hundred Miles
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.
Monday Blue Haiku
so done with this crap
that I am blinded by the
pink light of sunset
Veins
in windowless hell i sit
surrounded by computers.
technology seethes into my veins,
hard plastic pounds my ass.
keyboards and mice click
like the rodents they ought to be.
sighs and questions filter into
the stuffy dark room.
i am here but i am not here.
my mind, just like theirs,
wanders down the hallway,
out the door, into the open air.
i can picture the pedals,
the tires taking me home,
the summer heat seeping through me
like blood through my veins.
i can feel the bath-warm water
lapping around our naked skin,
his hands on my back in the soft
moments of a Kentucky summer.
in windowless hell i sit
surrounded by computers.
technology seethes into my veins,
gives me the keys to take me home.
Everything Included
we could walk
but we prefer to ride
they hop in
with three pennies,
jubilant voices,
and a mission.
we arrive at the
perfectly painted plastic horse
covered in vinyl saddle
where they climb up and down
riding like pro cowgirls
when five minutes have passed
they head for the cookie aisle
where disappointment sits
plainly on the empty tray.
instead, we pack on our helmets
to continue our weekday adventure,
the wind blowing allergen-ridden dust,
remnants of summer’s sun
beating down on our backs.
i follow the oldest, who
weaves like a drunk driver
through the sidewalk,
into the street,
everywhere her heart takes her.
a giant, loud-mouthed dog
greets our arrival. we reach
with skinny arms into
the abundantly fat-with-fruit trees,
pulling down ripe green pears,
apples with red dimples.
the dog continues to carry on,
and just as i wonder if he’s here
as a warning for us to leave,
a woman’s voice calls over the fence,
“Take as many as you can.”
And we do, the tangy juice
of tiny homegrown fruits
sliding down the girls’ chins,
dripping into the pile at the bottom
of the trailer, sweetening
our end-of-summer afternoon,
sweetening our time here, now.
everything included:
the bikes,
the horse,
the absent cookie,
the fruit,
for three pennies,
jubilant children,
and a mission.
Patio
how nice
as fall closes in
that we sit here with our dinner
(one last time?)
and listen
as the wind whistles
through our getting-taller trees
and the girls dive on and off
their matching swings
and the dry air tickles
our perfect-temp skin
and we can be, just be,
the perfect family.
Young Blood
caked in dirt as thick as frosting,
dripping in young-blooded sweat,
hand-carved spears cutting the air,
savage screams of hungry hunters,
sparkling laughter thrown into the wind,
they emerge from the forested fort.
not once in forty-eight hours
have iPodiPadMacBookCellPhone
inundated their young blood
(nor our old blood)
and without a single complaint,
we gather them together so
caked in sticky white clouds of s’mores,
campfire-smoke-ridden clothing and skin,
hot metal spears cutting into the ash,
thrilled screams of sugar highs,
sparkling laughter thrown into the stars,
they emerge from the perfect weekend.
One Stretch of Road
one stretch of road
that all my life
living here
i’ve never seen
how it curves and dips
reveals a view
of peaks and forests
of bicyclists making
their way to their next destination
(here is where the heart is)
of log cabins
and tiny towns
hidden trails
and geocaches
campgrounds tucked in
amongst aspens
and dirt roads
and i am reminded
(do i need a reminder?)
of why i am here,
why we are here
here
here
on this curvy
dipping winding road
that takes us home.
Sorrow, Love
it’s the witching hour
and here, all across town,
evils have worked their way into
the darkness engulfing us.
as quiet as a kitten snuffling
against the door, she whispers
that she is sick,
that she needs help.
with ginger hands we strip
off her sodden clothes,
and i run a washcloth under
water so hot it might sting her.
up and down her small body
i wipe away the illness, then
slip the clean nightgown over
her head in one anxious movement.
the new (old) bed in the green room awaits.
she crawls in and i whisper,
Do you want me to lie here with you?
she whimpers and nods, words lost.
i ask her to move over a bit,
but before i have slid in beside her,
she has inched her body wholly
against mine, her fingers on my face.
When you were a baby, I say,
the tears already sliding down my cheeks,
we used to share this bed every night,
just you and me, girl.
he comes in, offers to replace me,
but he can see the tracks down my cheeks,
her tiny fingers on my chin,
and without another word,
leaves us in our bed of sorrow, love.
Oddities
an odd couple
him outspoken
earrings and hair
thick with want of a brush
she perfectly manicured
tight as a spindle
of silken thread
their words bounce off
one another, harsh, playful
forced, relaxed
his mouth open and loud,
her lips pinched and defiant
with them we will take a new step,
form a new friendship,
walk our children hand in hand with theirs,
hoping the oddities
that make us (them)
who we are meant to be
will be the same oddities
that will bring, keep us together.
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