When she rides her bike she feels 10, again.
Wind in her hair, dashing down the street, switching the gears.
On her bike she has no bills, or worries, or fears.
She does not feel her ascending years.
And, happiness is the sound of pedals whipping ’round,
and wheels to the ground, and is found
and found (and found again)
in moments so precious
they make her feel like a kid.
Like she’s 10,
And climbing a steep hill is a force of will—a mountain of hardship.
It makes her want to cry it’s so hard.
But, her mother, her soul, is calling her home
from across the open yards.
So, she pushes to the top because
it’s impossible to stop—
she won’t ever stop—
for the reward from the crest
is sweet and swift.
A furious pace—
they see it, the fierceness in her face.
They watch her fly—they see her race
because she means business.
Down, down, down the other side
with her powerful freedom—won
because she knows, she just knows,
that when she rides her bike, she becomes herself again.
Like when she was 10,
when she rides her bike, there is no fight.
She dismisses her darkness, embracing the light.
She grips the handlebars tight—
and then she lets herself
Author: Kimberly Valzania
Editor: Leah Sugerman
Copy Editor: Khara-Jade Warren
Social Editor: Khara-Jade Warren