Dirt Bikes
Trails dissolving and reforming, laced
with pine needles, chipped rocks, holes,
dirt bikes sliding through the obstacles
without a breath left over, the bottom
rising to meet them, a ditch to leap over,
a thorny bush covered with red berries,
the sky sunny enough to blind any eyes,
where accidents result in white casts
on ankles, wrists, legs, hands, arms,
rocket graffiti covering them in hospitals,
or a safe arrival, sweaty and destined,
the excitement jumping off smiling faces,
until each bike is dragged up the hill again,
heavier each time, until evening arrives,
and they must cover themselves in garages,
where spiders lie on webs, cars have dreams
of being smaller, with handlebars, with speed.
| Donald Illich |
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levelheaded: Dirt Bikes
In Donald Illich’s poem, riding dirt bikes serves as a metaphor for living. As human beings, our life journeys are often undertaken on “[t]rails dissolving and reforming,” trails littered with “rocks, holes” and other various “obstacles.”
In exciting moments of life, we can feel as if we are “without a breath left over.” In moments of sadness, we might feel as if “the bottom [is] rising to meet” us, as if we are confronted with dark depths “to leap over.”
At the same time that the phrase “without a breath left over” makes us consider our lives, it also conjures death—that is, the moment when we breathe for the last time. In this context, we can reevaluate the lines that follow. “[T]he bottom rising to meet” us and the image of “a ditch” call to mind human burials. What’s more, these images suggest an unpleasant afterlife—a concept that works in direct contrast to the heavenly “sky sunny enough to blind any eyes.”
We’re bound to have our share of “accidents,” broken bones and hearts. But our injuries are offset by pleasurable moments, such as “a safe arrival” or “the excitement jumping off smiling faces.” After each experience, we trudge on back up the hill. Our lives, like these dirt bikes, can feel “heavier each time,” marred by the weight of our compounded experiences. Even so, as we are tucked into our resting place, we’ll wish to have our youthful exuberance back. In a poem made up of one fluid sentence, Illich shows us just how quickly life passes. Sorrows and joys are all intertwined and beautiful.
– The Editors
