Yesterday evening I read this poem at the King's Books reading open mike, the poem was from 1990, twenty-five years ago, my first summer with an adult bike.
SORROW IN THE BICYCLE SUMMER
When I reach the red light just down at the
The traffic light lands me, beaches me
my middle bar, until the bicycle seat becomes
a place to sit, furniture I use while my mind
At the red light I forget I am on my bicycle
And across I notice the tree that rattles
Large feathers of leaves, the spine of a
And leaflets beside, and in the wind
The tree from top to low limbs over the curbs
and street can shimmer. It is a black locust.
And it is my bicycle summer.
Now I am a person on a bicycle.
The swallows circled round my bicycle,
In the night are they asleep
or have they left us for the winter? It was a lawn,
and a sun that was mercifully a part of the
The sun a heart the leaves crowned,
The sun a heart the leaves screened.
Now the swallows will be gone
And sorrow is for anything, for our sad tables
turned over in the park, for a mislaid towel,
Or for a theorem long forgotten from school.