Tonight's Poet Corner: Spokes & Patterns
Spokes & Patterns by Belinda Roddie Passed a blue and weary minivan on my way home from the bookstore. Its engine was revved. The splinters in my side were as big as kings, hovering over a twenty-one speed throne. When I carried my bicycle to the gate of our complex, I saw that the mail had not been checked. Unbeknownst to me, you were two buildings down by that blue and weary minivan, smoking the black pipe I carved you for Christmas, your fingers like needles sewing into the seams of a young man's embroidered chest. He liked the way you touched him. He told me so when he saw me carrying boxes to my father's car, and laughed after I slapped him. Now the pain in my hips dances like a court jester for a new majesty. I ride my bike to my father's house, pulling at the loose threads where you used to stitch your initials into my skin, and with every undone knot, I become freer.