Cycling by Brandywine Creek

Jane Miller
Featured Image: So Camo So Hidden © Hannah Lee Kidder 2018

 

Hidden crickets rasp their wings. Cicadas keen
the air. Bike wheels circle, gravel crunch
a familiar score I mull in my sleep, my teeth grinding

against the guard protecting them
from themselves. A squirrel stutters like a dolphin
lost in a tree and I lose myself to home

spun sounds: coin silver gallops
free from his pockets in the clothes dryer;
arguments we have sneeze over

and over, ferocious as allergies
that shiver the joists. The dishwasher
when it ends, plays the first

three notes of Camelot. My husband clears
his throat to clear mine as I sing
along. I ache where my dreams

have kicked me last night. Why is joy so brief
a jingle between shows? Even a stone
unmoved in water, knows how to chime.