There are so many bike rides in me.
Long long paths paved by the river.
I am pedaling hard between the trees and smelling the drops of water in the air and curving around and diving through and all along there is SUN. Bright yellow light.
And then I woosh down into the tunnel.
Under the bridge in the dark damp gray.
Me and this shadowy space.
I hear only water, a concrete wall away.
Then in a flash the sun comes back to me and I am wondering:
What it was I left there in the tunnel.
Did you know I ran away once?
I left myself a bag of canned food in the woods behind my house.
When I got to the edge of the trees, it was still there.
The blanket tied-up in a grocery bag.
I was traveling on the trail toward your house.
You were going to leave me a peanut butter sandwich under the bush.
(I left my little brother back home by himself.)
There I was in the green trees and the smell of dirt.
I wonder, did I really go home? Did I bring it all with me?
Is there still a ten year old girl in the woods, determined to do it alone?
I feel her sometimes with her can of green beans.
She has learned the meaning of non-perishable.
I am sad for her.
At best, she is swinging through the trees by now.
But sometimes I worry she has lost her voice in there,
reaching out in the sparkly dust.
I am not really meant for shoes or topic sentences.
If my muscles had a memory, they’d get back on the bike.
And when I finally arrived they would give little shakes in reply.
We are here we are here we are here.