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
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