Today
I am a pink bicycle.
I
like the way the air feels as it rushes past me. I like the way it feels to
have my pedals pumped hard by an eager child. The humming of my wheels against
the pavement, low and warm, is comforting. I am freedom.
I consider staying the bicycle tomorrow, but there is so
much more out there. I can’t wait to be something else. New feelings draw me
in.
Yesterday
I was a stone, a pebble, stuck in the treads of someone’s shoe. I was solid.
Heavy, Unchanging. I scraped against the sidewalk as she walked until he lifted
his shoe and freed me.
I
lay, baking on the sidewalk. Someone kicked me painlessly. Merrily I bounced
forward until my momentum was lost. I was in the grass.
Soft,
warm dirt cradled me in its arms. Ants crawled around me, over me, and I was
still.
I
wonder what I will be tomorrow.
Maybe,
just maybe, I will be me.
I
wonder if I know what me is anymore.
The
ride is over. I am parked in a garage, chain wrapped around my frame. Cold
metal on warm metal. I cannot shiver.
I
know the light goes out, but nothing changes in this room full of metal.
Alone,
I think. When I am like this, thinking is difficult. Bicycles can’t think. But
I can’t remember things properly when I change.
I am
twisted. I am rubber and metal. I am pieces but I am one. I cannot move or
speak, but I am real.
I think
tomorrow I will move on my own. I will have blood and food and thoughts to
share.
A mouse, I
think. Soft, small, swift, smooth.
I search
out a form for me to share. An empty mouse. An empty house.
I choose my
home and wait. Slowly I feel myself move- losing the metal, the rubber, the
chain. I fade.
I am a
mouse. The mouse scampers off.