on a bike
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Rebecca - - No responsesEnd of summer, San Diego, August 2015 There's a poem in my head and I don't know how to write it. Riding my bike home, I hear the bing-bing of two metal things hitting. I decide to not stop. The sound is rather pleasant. A man is installing a rain gutter in hopes of El Niño. A woman in white pants trims something in her garden, as I pass a large van with a bumper sticker on the back window that reads WITCH. Two old cars rot under a plexiglass carport. Across the ... more -
Rebecca - - No responsesEmry, October 2014 This is what the living do. We want and want and want some more, and then we are suddenly satiated, and this is grace. Riding my bike through the autumn morning, the piles of leaves damp from a little nighttime rain, or maybe it was heavy dew, the sky a brightening blue with strewn white cloud over it. A sky like that has promise. The way the light slants past the street signs, hitting the tops of the trees and letting them show off their yellows, their ... more
