Peddling
My thighs rise like bloated
wheat kernels and
I am unsteady.
What seems like a
ready reference skill
eludes my eye/movement
locomotion.
Those mutts still have
their chance at my heels;
but the call to prayer
rings clearer as I
arch forward.
My breath pulls out
in great puffs.
The front tire sandwiches
thin against the patchy
pavement -- more dust
than tar.
This multi-decade body
shuffles through itself,
chronicling my blithely
earned and carelessly
underused life-functions.
To move is to
access self; my
blood pumps unforgettable
rhythms -- and I listen.
2 comments:
Beautiful! I wanted to thank you for your comment on our blog. I'm gearing up to listen to that NPR program. My emotions are pretty raw still, so I'm waiting until I've reached acceptance.
Your family is so beautiful. I'm so sorry I won't see you in NY when you come back. It was so beautiful being in Chicago for Obama's election. Eveyone's in a great mood. He's holed up in Hyde Park right by us, so all the streets are blocked. It's pretty crazy!
Ah, Heather, I love your poetry. When are you going to put out a collection already?
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