i’m awakened by the
climb of the chime of your
mirror bell as you zip
above me like the shadows
of the golden metal that echoes
in my ear.
but it seeps so strangely under
your clenched fists, as i watch
you pedal and ascend
one knee after another,
as sweat condenses on the
handles, and streamers sputter in the wind.
all i recognize you feel is blur,
and the substance we need
to pedal, fill your mouth and
choke muscle and tendon,
as our cartilage crammed turbines rise and fall
like the pant of your lung as you tricycle
away from the choker covalently
bonded to the first of all that matters.
yet we giggled – we snorted,
while printing the memory
on your chip as the disc swerved away.
rue had let you run over my
toes with our red.
you rose and fell over
the unseen ivory bones; and i pleaded for
a motion of cyclical squeeze more
potent than a chip and a
wheel gone awry.
such as our disc shattered
in two, i stooped on our
step with palm under arch,
limp from the stubs of nails
that bled out like thorn bush
creaking to the zip code that a
tricycle is no bicycle when one
wheel decides to drift away.
This piece has been published in Teen Ink’s monthly print magazine.