prayers

for every car i see, i say i prayer
peering through snow melting to slush
on my goggles

i've bolted out of churches all my life
my skin tingling with anxieties
rolling my eyes skyward

so i don't know what it means
to """say a prayer"""

but this is what i mean when i say it:

"please don't run me over please don't run me over please don't run me over
please don't run me over please don't run me over please don't run me over"

so maybe it's not a "prayer"
just a plea

Permalink
24 January 2019 09:37

winter again

the road unfurls from my front wheel like a wet, black tongue, lashing between snowed-over yards and cutting a path through a tunnel of trees. i dare to pedal harder, smashing knobbly rubber through the not-yet-ice as gravity drags me downhill.

and yet as i fly, my legs rattle above the pedals from the wind cutting straight through muscle. the faster i move, the colder i am.

and i know i'll be warm again shortly.

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05 December 2018 09:32

hands-free

it feels like flight. it feels like a jittery, shaky, flat flight, the moment i let go with my hands and sit up straighter, leaning back to center my weight over the seat post. i still have to grip the top tube with my knees, awkwardly, asymmetrically. the lack of style irritates me, but i know i have room to improve.

it feels like flight when i open up my chest, pulling my shoulders back, spreading my palms wide to the sky, inviting the wind around me. it feels like flight because the air wraps around my torso, the bike and my body hurtling forwards on its own.

fear curls around my spine when i remember that this means my hands are far away from the brakes. but the flight is worth it.

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06 September 2018 21:37

almost like flying

i slingshot myself into a sharp right hand turn, knowing that if i take too long, the blind curve uphill from me might emit a car moving faster than the reasonable 25 mph speed limit. and still, i have to throttle my legs until i'm flying faster than i can pedal, unbuttoned shirt streaming behind me like a cape, having faith that no cars will pull out in front of me while i race to the stoplight at the bottom, half a mile away.

trees and signs blur together, but i see a group of people waiting for a bus, and an old man in the crowd makes eye contact with me and smiles. i'm already smiling, a manic grin of adrenaline that can't stretch any wider.

my brakes sing even if i feather them carefully, vulcanized rubber buzzing against dished rims. i know i should replace my front wheel. i know i should replace my brake pads. i know i should tighten my headset.

one more day, one more commute that didn't end in catastrophe.

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30 August 2018 20:24

rain, three acts

act one

i roll my eyes up at the sky, whispering, just relax. relax, clouds. they hang heavy overhead, tight with water, grumbling as they roll past. i have a headache, sympathy pressure from the leading edge of the storm front pushing against the house.

release your burden, clouds. you have carried this water so far.

act two

i slipped through a break in the clouds, hovering under an awning while the storm releases its third wind. water pools past people's ankles as they scatter across the street.

"it looks like it's brightening up," a woman tells her blind companion. "it's brightning up for sure. this will pass soon."

act three

flash flood alerts explode across everyone's phones, even the one hooked up to the speakers that was playing music. we can all see it; the warehouse windows overlook the river, the skyline, the hills. a blot of grey pulls over us.

i have to bike home in this, i tell my friends. the water reaches my pedals on the downstrokes; it runs off hillsides and makes waterfalls that spill over the sidewalk. i fly through the curtain, eyes and mouth closed, hoping it hasn't washed broken glass my way. but it all smells like sewage, a day of rain filling up the drains and backwashing blackwater along the street.

it's fine, i tell myself. my tetanus shot hasn't expired yet. i'll keep riding and let the fresh rain wash away the dirt.

the skies clear before i get home.

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21 June 2018 00:21