Cyclist
By Christina E. Petrides

 

Atop a sleek frame with skinny pork-tint tires,
a knife-edged seat leans against the café wall.

 

Its owner, the trim pony-tailed barista, recalls an episode from
his brief New York boyhood—

 

“Someone gave us a used single-speed with wobbly training wheels.
The rubber handgrips had pink ribbons on the ends.

 

One day, this huge, brawny guy, his knees out sideways,
peddled off toward the sunrise on my ‘girly’ bike.

 

The last I saw of it as he disappeared around the corner
were the streamers fluttering in the morning frost.

.

 

Twilight

Woodsmoke trickles from
a waterside bar’s chimney—
ideal autumn smell.
Streetlights in shady places
begin to turn on automatically,
and the eastern horizon sublimes into the sky.
A chained dog barks and growls from atop its plastic house,
its beady eyes fluorescent in the failing light.
The remaining leaves on the trees shuffle sleepily,
the sea starts to whisper, “Shhh, shhh…,”
and the birds tell each other bedtime stories.
The passage of a jet far overhead
prompts us to hold hands.

.

American Southerner Christina E. Petrides lived in South Korea for 6.5 years. She has published four children's books, one massive Russian to English nonfiction translation, and a poetry collection.