Crossroads

every morning
as i come to my crossroads
just after dawn
touches her fingers to sky,
i make my decision–
an uphill battle
breaking my muscles,
the wind of the highlands
an ever-greater challenge
than the meandering creek

i pedal for simple sights:
the middle-aged blonde
with two matching goldens,
(sometimes leashed, sometimes free)
the bright yellow spot
of a SmartCar, and me
always wondering just where
on the curvacious beauty of
a road i will pass it,
the ever-silent deer
who peer intently at my machine
as they stand cautiously
at the edge of civilization.

and today? a gift,
the top of the most tenuous climb,
the wind bending back leaves
and straightening out flags,
pushing against my will,
when what should cross the road
but a lone pronghorn,
its native spirit leaping
over barbed wire and into
the chaparral, leaving me to
finish my ride, open up
a starvation-induced chocolate
whose wrapper reads,
You are exactly where
you’re supposed to be

(i don’t throw it away,
its aluminum words
imprinted on the crossroads
that may lead me elsewhere tomorrow)

There Are No Commercials

we have given up on society.
first it was the tv.
we still have internet, a screen, a wii,
but do we fit in?

now i will spend more days
than ever before
enjoying the beauty of a bike.
we will be the only family i know
with one car

it is crazy i know–
it’s my middle name,
the same one who married at twenty,
who said yes to them,
who writes these words
on our girlfriend’s birthday

but if you could see my world?
there are no commercials.
just the wind at my back
as i pedal home,
the lyrics i love,
the audiobooks i long for,
and the peace of knowing
we can keep those dollars
in our pocket
and our children will still have us
at the end of every day

Tabula Rasa

before this great institution
you have a tabula rasa–
you could start fresh,
show the world innovation,
speak the language of the plants.

but in your usual
conglomeration of unspoken words,
you have filled your slate
with water-sucking weeds
stealing the words from native beauty.

Unemployed Words

if words could work
i could buy the right food
food to feed them
food to nurture the Earth
rather than strip her of
her natural beauty

if words would work
we could respond yes
throw our three-dollar-dinner
into the wastebasket
and forget the one week and
ten dollars left till payday

if words could cure
the tears would be smiles
and they could have
the ice cream cones of their dreams
instead of the cheap flavorless popsicles
that melt before they can get a taste
of the world with my words.

Blinded by Blue

i can’t see
the environmental impact
of the roads
ski areas
and mines along the way.

only the blue sky
long absent
longingly awaited
the sun hot on my skin
waterfalls pouring
from every crevice
of Rocky Mountain rock
and snow still standing
obstinately against all predictions.

i will take this pain in my muscles
to bed with me
as i listen to the roaring river
and try to remember
this perfect planet
we’re destroying

but for now
for today
i am blinded by blue.

Half

if i could be half of who you are
the world would shine
an untouched wilderness of beauty
that no human could destroy

if i could be half
hearts held in hands would melt
kindness would seep through the air
like a feathery soft summer breeze

half of you
would be the full circle of the moon
lighting our way into the silver circle of dawn
the touch of newness fresh on our skin.

if i could be half of who you are
my nights would rest with seamless sleep
i would see the world for what it could be
never for what it is not.

i would be whole.

Commute

cat’s paws on glass
dented side panel
dash lights that haven’t
worked in five years
bits of wrappings
from kids’ endless
candy expenditures
taped-on headlight
zip-tied bumper
broken visor
windshield crack
of spider-ice
locks and windows
you have to open
by hand
broken cup holders
too small for any drink
radio numbers
you can no longer see.

and you dare ask
how i could layer on
thick butt pad
sports-bra undershirt
two long underwear tops
one long underwear bottom
bike capris
two pairs of socks
two sets of gloves
a bandana, hat, scarf
a helmet and headphones
a saddle bag filled with
lunch and work clothes?

oh.
you missed
the silver sliver of moon
the last star of night
the windless morn
Aurora’s pink fingertips
painting the sky
the top of the hill home
where the curving road
presented its framed picture
of the city skyline
distantly mirrored
by snow-capped fourteeners.

i understand.
you would rather be warm.
i would rather have warmth.

Wasps

you are like wasps
hiding in crevices
along the back patio,
swooping in to hover
around the barbecued flesh
that is meant for our mouths.

though we swat at your wings,
we know the stingers
are positioned, aimed,
ready for the bite
that will sacrifice your lives
in your haste for consumption.

in our hands we hold
the greasy meat
that could sustain us all.
if only you could feel
outside of your minuscule mouths
how tasty our coexistence could be.

Underbelly

we are here now,
sister, brother-in-law, niece,
grandparents who have filled
the underbelly of the tree
with Wal-mart’s
explosion of Chinese reality.

he and i lie in the dark
on our basement floor mattress,
the tint of the waning moon
lingering light upon his whiskered face.

Santa has already arrived,
stripped down because
the underbelly of the tree
regurgitated its recklessness.

i will never forget,
i tell him,
this time at my own
grandparents’ house,
when my mother,
her measly salary
half of my father’s pittance,
after seeing the
gifts my grandmother
inundated us with,
turned to him and said,
‘I hate being poor.‘

i try to remember this
as we rise before the sun,
set up the camera
in anticipation of their anxious faces,
and spend hours
exchanging money, goods
from the underbelly of the tree
that seems to mock,
wealth, wealth, wealth
with its shedding branches
that drop needles
like tears onto the hardwood.

Pedal My Way

with dry, windburned cheeks
and layer upon layer,
my headlamp prominent
as a beacon on my helmet,
i face this winter like no other.

it stands between now and the end,
these hills and my mountain,
and no matter how cold,
no matter the unending wind,
no matter the disapproving glances,
i will pedal my way to a better tomorrow.