this ancient primal
strikes suddenly from the depths
of water and earth
My first bike was a childhood gift, way too big for me, that my father lovingly assembled one Christmas Eve so it would be waiting by the tree the next morning. No speeds, pedal brakes. As I grew into them I turned the wheels faster and faster until I left them behind.
It took a few years before I began pedaling my way around the city, this time with 5 speeds and hand brakes. My legs moved the wheels around and around once again, through the park, dodging traffic during transit strikes, climbing flights of stairs as the wheels bumped my body to my apartment door.
Finally I had an elevator! And then a baby. No space for cycles that were not attached to a carriage, a stroller, then tri and then bi accompanied by training wheels. My legs walked beside them, watching my children turn them around and around until they too were flying on their own, faster and faster away from my slowing path.
Now all those wheels live only in remembered rotations.
These days my legs spin in a pattern that repeats itself, over and over, in the same location. The world outside my window does the passing by.
the still point
The NaPoWriMo prompt for day 1 is “write a self-portrait poem in which you make a specific action a metaphor for your life”. For all our lives these days…
As I did two years ago for NaPoWriMo, I’ve been working on art to use in April for a number of months, this time inspired by the work of Matisse and Richard Diebenkorn. The circles come via Matisse.