Bruises

Monday, November 23, 2020

Gifted with a bike for my fifth birthday.
Its purple tassels caught the sun.
I never joined danger,
even when it's honeyed voice called.
No cuts, bruises, or snapped bones.
I dug my fingernails into my palms
as my friends hung upside down on the monkey bars
and plunged off the top of the boulder.
Without nose diving, how was I to rise?
Years passed, and age licked my skin.
I returned
I played. I hollered.
At last, I leapt.
Red and blue flashing lights, sirens guided by dusk


This poem was published by Fathom Mag. 

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