The Closest I'll Ever Get to Flying
By. Amanda Little Rose
Careening over the handlebars
of a road bike I was never taught to ride,
I fall forward onto the pavement.
My palms break my fall and separate
To make room for tiny pieces of gravel
that find a home in my hands,
And one dime-sized pebble that bounces away
Like a Jax marble
with the skin of my left knee.
I roll onto my back and outstretch my arms.
Palms open to the sky,
I laugh in the face of an unforgiving sun,
Because no one taught me how to do the things I enjoy,
Or stand on feet so flat they look flippers
But with flippers on the pedals of an old bike,
I can slip like a seal against the current of a city
And bark at the shadow of a moving sun
while I fall full-speed ahead,
Face-first over handlebars.
My outstretched arms become wings.
Amanda Little Rose is a high school English teacher and freelance poet from the small state of Rhode Island, currently working toward her MFA in Creative Writing. You can follow her on Instagram @littlerose.poetry