The Pedaler Poem by Zoe Guillory

Murky water like the thick inky blackness of a night
without stars. Without Hope. Silence pushing down.
So heavy the branches of the trees his the ground.
The leaves rotted while still green. Holding on.

He yells at you. The words like virgin tears
pulling down your soft cheeks. Red from cold. Anger.

A night without stars becomes a night without clouds.
Bright stars pierce down until fires catch and die.
The wind whips branches, punishing trees. Merciless.
But they don't seem to mind as the rain stops beating.

Your legs pump tired bicycle pedals. Propelled. Cold.
Whispers. LET'S RUN AWAY.

Abandoned houses and rotting fences reach to the Moon.
She does not gland at them, too busy envying the Sun.
Waiting for Morning so she could see him.
Hear the songs the birds would sing for his arrival.

Rushing past empty mailboxes and fallen branches.
Black in the night. Grabbing desperately at your feet.

The faded yellow line at the center of the street
means nothing. Hardly visible without the luxury
of streetlights to light the long path to nowhere.
The path to Oz is clearer in the sunlight.

But the wind runs past you, echoing the screams
that forced you away from Home. FASTER.

Bright green house. Chipped and faded. Two stories.
Rounded at the top. The For Sale sign was new
this morning. No one had owned it for years.
Shattered windows let in vines and rain and spiders.

The shadows are chasing you but you much catch
your breath. Rest for a while at our secret green place.

My house. Brick. Perfectly square. Pointed roof.
Flowers, battered by rain, reach for where their Sun
always greets them. Where the sunlight first kisses
the night away. Water soaks into the ground.

You knock at my door. Frantic. Tears and sweat.
I welcome you in, but you take me by the hand. Outside.

Clear water like the Caribbean skies. Bird songs
flutter through the bright green leaves. New branches.
The Sun is coming up, and it will set tonight,
but we can't see the end of the road just yet.