BICYCLE

 

so justly proud

she having scaled

that penultimate hill

not nearly the behemoth

that lay at the top 

of the park still

to be ridden nonetheless

her bike a new thing

a new old thing

rewind and new wind

how proud he was

of her persistence

what made him

love her in the first place

she started 

slowly

building to the rush

walking when

riding was the intent

pushing her resistance

up a hill

or two or three

she counted them

by their curve

their steepness

the distance to the 

traffic light 

at the top of the hill

she swore allegiance

to the hills

each one, one at a time

and then she talked

to her bicycle

spoke in a whisper

at first

tried desperation and

that did not work

she planned then

after each revolution

how her ride

in the park would go

the monster at

the top of the park would be ridden

she became her own

cheerleader

hoarse after a ride

after awhile

it worked she understood

the road and dips and 

what hills

required

what will

and after awhile

when she felt she’d

managed the 

overture

a heatwave

undid her

brought her back to

struggle and contemplation

she faced the hill and

said you do not own me.

 

6.21.12 nyc

Photo: Central Park 12.11.24