On wheels

by Delphine Ruaro

I had never ridden a bike in the city before
now the wheels are the only shapes
I can safely hold
I use them to remind myself
of the day of the month
I stroll through the empty streets and notice
what cannot be seen – salted tears, hands shaken,
the figures with no face that I aim
to count my blessings for. I had
never noticed the blooms
in my neighbour’s garden
and now their name is the only word
I speak out loud
we talk about the weather, warm breeze sunny shades
we hold on to every letter so it makes us feel
a little closer
and the minutes grow taller, they
take all the space
I find comfort in them – to draw the house
I used to play in, paint my hands
with saffron, lime peel and blue corn,
observe the ease of the life
I count my blessings for