I know I’m a head-to-toe beauty
in my bike helmet,
oversized headphones,
wool mittens and socks,
and navy blue-with-white-stripes
long underwear
worn underneath
my butt-padded
bike capris.
But really?
It’s six a.m.
and your honking horn
and horny cat calls
are making you
appear a little desperate.
Get a life.
(Though I must thank you
for the poetic inspiration)
One: squirrels are suicidal
dashing in front of tires in a race
that didn’t exist before
they saw me coming
Two: canals are the best
places to ride a bike along
(flat and meandering,
tree filled and peaceful)
Three: once again, fresh
homemade ice cream from
Bonnie Brae upholds its
“beautiful hill” standard.
Four: my girls are fish, in
and out of the water no
holds barred, ready for summer,
ready for anything.
Five: two hundred joggers in
Wash Park may look like a race to them,
but it’s just another Saturday in
Denver, just what my girls should see.
Six: the liquor store is also
known as the “licorice store”
because they have wine for us and
lollipops for them: a treat for all.
Seven: playing outside with
the neighbor kids is just as magical
for this generation as it was for mine,
just as free, and just the way to end the day.
in this moment
I can find the pace I need to get me there stronger
Mythili can “read” a whole page in her elaborate story
Riona can say “I wuv you” seven times
Isabella can brush her top teeth by herself
and someone on the other side of the world
or right across town
is giving birth to a perfectly healthy baby
while another lost soul is pointing a gun to his head
in this moment
I can hear Alanis Morisette motivating my pedals
my students can see twenty pictures on Google
of the cedar trees they’ve never heard of
the teachers can track me down for brownies
and someone right across town
or on the other side of the world
is pounding a woman’s skull into the drywall,
while another is handing a ten-year-old his first pair of shoes.
in this moment
I will live
I will love
I will remember what I have
what we all have
(somewhere within us)
standing next to my bike
(baby number one)
just before sunrise
I adjust the straps on the saddlebag
and ask myself why I
didn’t pack gloves
the door clicks open
swings shut
forcing my heart rate to
race as if I’ve already begun
the uphill ride
my breath spills out
in gray wisps of
below freezing air as
I take a step around the corner
to see what has materialized
there she stands
barefoot in
her polar bear purple pajamas
her fuzzy morning braids
dangling on either side of her
grinning face, her arms out
“I came to say good-bye.”
I reach for my should-be-asleep
daughter, wrapping my warmth
around her shivering skin,
my always-a-morning-person girl,
my baby number one.
catch me a moon once meant
fix my broken heart
(at sixteen, when in pieces
my heart’s only remedy were
the silver splashes of light)
catch me a moon now means
give me a moment
(a moment to myself, to bike,
to run, to remedy stress
with silver splashes of light)
catch me a moon was a story
I wrote (and memorized,
reciting its words as I tackled
giant hills on my way to school
under silver splashes of light)
catch me a moon is a poem
I write (holding my mended heart
as I rediscover the well-lit path
that will carry me—carry all of us—
as we reach for silver splashes of light.
pedals taking me there
the horizon beckons
on either side of my tires
from the west, golden,
hidden under a mask of clouds
the glowing coin of night
settles itself onto a bed of
snowcapped mountain peaks,
the city’s glittering lights
quilting the mattress of spring
from the east, silver,
hidden under a mask of clouds
the flashing fish of morning
prances into a pool of
aquamarine divinity,
the black-roofed suburban homes
splashing the tides of spring.
pedals taking me there
the horizons beckon
the divine hands that
summon spring’s sunrise
on both sides of my tires.
Dedicated to the Glenwood Canyon Bike Trail
the sky here is always blue
(clouds sneak in each afternoon
but the mountain air chases them off)
and in the morning you just might see
(you just might, if you find the soul of God)
a herd of bighorn sheep
(brown now, September leaves golden)
startled by you
and the dawn that tickles
their grass-eating lips
you can stop your pedaling
or keep going
(keep going)
because the beauty doesn’t end there—
you will breathe it into your lungs,
the light heaviness of
the red rock canyon,
the perfectly laid path that winds
along the river that
has carved out this magnificence
so you
(you, them, everyone)
can taste for these delicious
high altitude moments
Heaven on Earth.
Step Write Up 