A child’s corroded bike is enshrined against a tree, tethered in twisting vines.
Broken spokes bejeweled with green moss, time-toughened tires laced with lichen.
Seat rusting in layers, thin and frail as gilded laurel leaves.
The shadow-word “CLIPPER” fades to a whisper along an arc of fossilized rubber.
Like a story written in vanishing ink, like ice-cream melting in your hand,
like not saying good-bye because you didn’t know it was over.
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Lisa Rost Lewis is a retired teacher of English as a Second Language who lives in upstate New York. Her first published work, about her experiences living in Tokyo, was written in Japanese and published in a niche magazine for Kimono specialists. Her more recent work can be read in Lightwood Magazine (lightwoodpress.com) and Superpresent Magazine (superpresent.org). She received a BA in English Literature from the University of Michigan, and an MA in TESOL from Eastern Michigan University.
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