Hands-Free

Hands drop –

first one,

then the other.

Feet continue,

up and down,

providing rhythm.

Small shifts –

every move counts.

Hips pump,

legs and knees adjust

to keep the wheels straight.

I’ve prepared for this,

this letting go.

I know the risks;

that I could fall,

that I could bleed.

And even if I didn’t

it would still hurt.

I’ve done the work.

This rejection of control

serves me.

Control is just a mirage

simmering in the distance

somewhere up there.

When there is here

it’s gone.

I spread my arms –

adjust my hips,

hold my tongue

just right.

Let the road have me.

If I fall,

I’ll get up.

I’ll keep riding.

This poem is being posted as part of the #100dayproject. Find out more here.

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