The Rider by Naomi Shihab Nye

Naomi Shihab Nye

The Rider by Naomi Shihab Nye

T.

Hello, weekend. Crossing my fingers I get to write and not go back to my desk to work. Or maybe I should go out and see some friends, just to keep the melancholy at bay. A few days ago I have started another journal to talk about the creative process (ha! how pretentious) — well,

my

creative process, as an attempt to dissect myself and maybe understand if I have a method behind the madness. Been living in my head for far too long; I need to feel that I’m not the only one who’s like this. I feel that by talking about it, by forcing myself to face how I go about my life, then maybe I can learn how to gather my bearings once in a while. And yeah I started it because I can’t afford a shrink (heh), and I really wanted to see one.

Anyway. Here’s one of the loveliest poets ever:

The Rider

Naomi Shihab Nye

A boy told me

if he roller-skated fast enough

his loneliness couldn’t catch up to him,

the best reason I ever heard

for trying to be a champion.

What I wonder tonight

pedaling hard down King William Street

is if it translates to bicycles.

A victory! To leave your loneliness

panting behind you on some street corner

while you float free into a cloud of sudden azaleas,

pink petals that have never felt loneliness,

no matter how slowly they fell.

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poetry