Leaving the Training Wheels

Photo by Mathias P.R. Reding on Unsplash

On a summer weekend afternoon it was decided --

Today is the day I learn to ride a bike.

Training wheels removed,

tucked into a corner of the basement.

Bike loaded in the hatchback.

Short drive to the long road in front of the orphanage.

No cars to interrupt the day --

Wobble, ride, and fall.

Wobble, ride, and fall.

Until blood trailed from both knees,

pale legs erupted in bruises,

and, finally, I could pedal from the car to the orphanage,

upright white-knuckled balanced

between fear and exhaustion.

Scrapes and bruises and cuts --

both legs from ankle to thigh --

they meant I had done something.

I tried and worked and fell and got up.

I reached into the world and pulled out what I needed,

never mind the damage. It was mine now.

I never slept so hard as I did that night.

Cotton sheets soothing my bruised and cut-up legs.

Asleep in an instant, dreaming

of softness, tender winds,

pale legs in the grass,

relaxed hands open to what I needed.