Circles
by Katie Grierson
Rode the road up and down
the coast. All that summer he turned
the wheel. Their bicycle
wheels went in red circles. Then went
backwards. Then under
the bridge and never came out. A cave
so cold I shivered. I was shivering it was so
empty. In circles, the bicycles,
the dropped gallon of milk, the tip of his finger
twirling me out the doorway. The river
went around my waist. My
waist got caught by his hands under
the riverwater. On the shore, a road went by.
I read the tarot cards and they told me I was going to die.
The cards read the bicycle and the bicycle
was in the cave and I was in the road lying
down, a whole line of traffic waiting
to kill me. The cave asked why
I dropped the milk and I had to admit I forgot all about
the bridge, and when I turned to look,
there it was, leaking in lazy puddles. I thought
I was going to die. That summer he turned the wheel.