2 of 31. How October Begins

With a bike ride

from the Lower East Side

to the Upper West.

And the ride is barefoot,

because the shoes I borrowed from Sarah

are a little too snug for pedaling.

And the lipstick is red

because it’s October.

It’s early, and the sky is

bluer.

I drink the air while I ride,

and wrap my sweater

around my waist because the cold

feels so nice on my shoulders.

I show up to church

disheveled, but early,

throw on my shoes and sweater

and buy two plums from the vendor

who says my lips are very sweet.

My nose has started running from

the October air, so I hand him change

and sniff a thanks before heading in

to Emily Dickinson Highschool where the piano

is pounding out sweet gospel, and the drummer has

those jazz wire brushes; the singers swing low

sweet carry us closer to heaven.

When I’m riding home I stop to fix my helmet

and a young Australian man asks me if I can take

him to Bleecker, so I try but his balance

throws me off and we nearly miss a car on Houston.

We decide it’s best if he walks and I ride home

barefoot to an empty apartment,

sun spilling over everything.

It’s still morning, and I’m starting

to get

hungry.

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About amyleighcutler

Writer, dancer, vagabond extraordinaire
This entry was posted in 30 in 30, fall, Poetry, trinity grace church and tagged , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

2 Responses to 2 of 31. How October Begins

  1. Brian says:

    Brings back memories. You can leave New York, but a piece of you will always stay behind. I like your style of poetry.

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