B r o k e n B i k e s

 By Kristi Chon

 

My grandfather loved breaking broken things
Without prompting or permission
His eyes nearly shut in concentration,
Peering at the grimacing gears
Click, click, click.

I learned to ride a bike on a flat tire
A foolish determination to conquer the
peaks
Yet my body wobbled wherever Wind
Changed its mind to venture
Clunk, clunk, clunk.

A mirror beckoned my gaze one ride
A house of five
A mother’s glimmering eyes
Tracing the outline of a broken frame
Crack, crack, crack.

Click!

Capture this.
Her father used to hoist her
Giggling, above his head whenever he saw
Glimmering glass sleeping on the sidewalk
At the cost of a dropped bag of groceries

Clunk!

Later, she stands knee deep
In a pool of green shards and bad breath
Cradling a head above the ground
A stomach and mind refusing to quiet
As she ponders the meaning of being held

Crack!

The story interrupted as
The vehicle I once trusted gave way
To a groove in the gravel
My body a stone
Skidding across the surface

Click. Clunk. Crack.

My blurry vision found my beloved grandfather
Who stood over me with a perplexed complexion.

Click.

Would I too, remain broken?
Perhaps one day,
They’d see what their fixing had done

Click
Clunk
Crack.