Strawberry Gravel

Angelica Whitehorne

Growing face hits man // made pavement // gravel and blood // dribble chin // cry like an alarm

clock // ignored, girl // ring // wake up the neighborhood // ring // strawberry ice cream in // my

collarbones // pooling // like the tears my eyes // I did ride five blocks over after my mother said

// always, always stay on the street of our home // her fault // for taking her eyes off me // the

bicycle splayed behind me // tires still rolling // ring // think they’re going // somewhere // like

girls in deep sleep // in winding dreams, waking to a paved path // ring // sidewalk disaster //

clean up on Wabash St. // a girl cries // can’t be snoozed // ring // blood // everywhere // before it

becomes a monthly natural // the first time I am far enough from home // to maybe not make it //

back // I still wonder how // I rode // so fast with so much joy // when the ground was // so hostile

// so close // asphalt’s burning threats // rising up under pedal // and yet I did! // even after this

fall // and all the others // long after I healed and was opened up again // I rode // both hands off

the handle bars // arms waving out like licorice twists // my scar speckled face // giggling into the

brunt of it // huffing resilience into the air // teeth // red // tongue // pink // stretching // further //

further // never bothering to look

// down //

Angelica is a recent college graduate who writes for the Development department of a refugee organization in New York. At home she writes her poetry and stories with her 10 plants as backdrop and her future on her tongue. She has forthcoming work in the Magnolia Review, Crack the Spine, Breadcrumbs Magazine, and Amethyst Review. Instagram: @a.w.ords Website: https://angelicawhitehorne.myportfolio.com/