Another Sunday morning
Crouched in the beam of headlights
Steam coming off coffee and breath
Fumbling to pin race bib to pants

A romance
Of sorts; this dance I’m addicted to
Those magic numbers: 5k, 13.1, and
The boss lady: 26.2 (I’m coming after you)
But why? Friends ask
You’re crazy they say on posts
Of me on each early Sunday

I say nothing back, but heart the comment
I can’t explain what the rhythmic pound; the sound
of New Balanced footstrike does
For the broken part of me
How the week’s aggression
That needs suppressing is sweated out
And gathered up in Nike’s moisture-wicking fabric

How weaving through the crowd of neophytes
Wearing today’s race shirt, alternately
Sprinting then walking

And the kids, eager, then over it
The moms reclaiming a body that sheltered
The now-strollered baby
The geriatrics, shoes well-used
Nimble limbs, not brittle but abused
From pounding pavement years before this

This environment, atmosphere
Big race crowds or small informal
Stopwatch race; doesn’t matter
Just involved; a part of this kinship
Unspoken club affiliation; in passing
Not a wave, but nod
A head bob of appreciation
For another’s association;
Obsession with times, miles,
Post-race selfie smiles
Because I know there will come a day
That my body will betray
My runner’s soul.

But for now I stand at the start
Ready for race gun and one more mile

she walks in rain clouds




she walks in rain clouds
on bright crisp winter days



the night
                         and it’s terrors            still haunting


                                    the infantwomanchild


innocence          a foreign term
ravaged by.                               that which cannot be.
          
                  u .   t.   t.  e.    r.   e.   d.  



          __________


held captive

     in the horrors of darkness that plague her

      despite the rays that warm her face      her hands are icicles
                                                         ­                   protruding from appendages
                                                      ­                      blue and veiny
                                                           ­               

                                                ­                               nearly necro
                             in both body and soul

               as neither dawn nor day
                 hold solace       their strength sapped by the all too real battering

                    of the loathsome black hours that trap them
                      

          _______­_


consumed

        in the hangover
              of fear and remembrance
       she looses her way                 on a path she has trodden many many times
             but never left a crumb trail


         ___________


solitude frightens her
        as does silence            the demons that lie in wait there
        terrify her
                        to her core         she restlessly seeks out companionship

                                                    busies herself with distractions


           futile attempts to vanquish
                     the memories that plague the stillness



              __________


­
she walks in rain clouds
      on bright crisp winter days
        
            tenaciously holding on to her umbrella

I see you-
With your wide eyes,
And your hands stretched out,
Ready to catch the world
At the tip of your fingers.

You're searching
For a reason to escape-
To hop on the next ship
To God knows where,
And make metaphors
Out of all the wrong places.

I see you with your casual grin
And your nose scrunched up like this.
You're sniffing out danger-
following all the red flags,
And searching for a story-
One about the line between
Staying alive and living.
It looks a lot like
A crime scene
And your hands are painted bright red.

I see you with your
Too thick sweater
And hiking shoes.
You're preparing for the worst,
Whether the weather
Or the rickety trail ahead.

All you want to do
Is run until your feet
Leave the ground.
Your soles are a little worn in,
And your hair
Ruffed up from the hood.
You're afraid to let the raindrops in
Thinking you might catch a cold,
Or an excuse to latch
Your feet onto the bedroom floor.

Not you.
You were made for moving.

I see you
Looking at me-
Every instinct telling you
To walk away.

Just stop.

Hold on a little while, darling.

There's a cup of coffee
Freshly brewed
On the table downstairs.
Set down the baggage
And step inside.
The door's wide open,
And the cold is creeping in,
But right now,
You can keep warm
By the fireplace.

I may only have two hands
To hold all your troubles,
But I will gladly share the load.
All you need to do
Is stay.

Love runs away
Fleeing with Stolen Hearts
so fraudulent
and sly
tiptoeing to our doors
to leave us a small gift.
When we wake,
to a find a Stolen Heart on our doorstep
We hide.
Crimes of passion
we don't understand
Yours aching to return
And when our eyes meet
so do our lips
Unsure of the warm embrace
and the new heart
A hybrid of yours and mine.
Hoping
                                                    ­                                    Love doesn't shatter it.

Some days
She finds
Herself
Vacant
One
Self-destruct switch
Away
From
A life
Her own
But different

The steps
She takes
So delicate
As not to
Hurt
Still leave
Craters
In living room
Floors
Unmistakable

But better
Are craters
Of shrapnel
Than to be
Stagnant
Feet embedded
In a place
Where she
Finds
Only vacancy

I have been having a lot of dreams lately
about running away from something

but also heading towards somewhere at the same time,
in every dream there is a destination that I never make it to,
before I wake up
&
maybe that is my subconscious way of telling myself I am looking for something, wanting something, that is unattainable right now,
that all the running I’m doing is clearly a waste of time
and maybe if I stopped trying to get somewhere for a second,
I’d have time to see where I already am

You light me up like a Christmas tree
And I feel so juvenile
But I'm too chicken to say how I feel
Because I'm still in denial

Because there's so many words you've said
And I've wondered if they were for me
With so many words that I've said
You were always listening

Because I remember my words
And it appears you did too
You're a very good listener
For someone I've rarely spoken to

Because I'm running towards you
But is this the right way to go
I'm chasing after someone
Who I don't even know

We're flirting with the line
And I'm on the edge
Are you going to cross
Or stay true to your pledge

a very small step that goes to the next.
It leaves and stops with fair hesitation.
Waiting and Restless.
Starting and Stopping
The movements going fast.
The feet, stomping.
The running, the saving, the freedom.
The tendency to always precede them.
Blur of speed
Never Stopping
The world asking
for silence
Quick response of
Stomp! Stomp!

scratchy and damp do not harmonize underfoot
and fear and the ocean should not coexist
but like this elevator missing the thirteenth button, my comfort sinks with tantalizing, lethargic anxiety.

the boards are a smokeless fire underfoot,
grit rolling between me and chipped brown paint,
as i beg for cold, thirst for salt, but do not run to the provocative, promising body beyond the dunes.

and my clothes are underfoot,
and this lemonade pink towel whose corner grabs at the sand,
and the hot dry fades into something that is sturdy and packed down by bounds like mine.

carbon slices at my underfoot,
the sharp home of a long-dead thing,
as my heel strikes the iron, water-pat shore, and the shock of it stuns my bones.

shock! cold underfoot
lace between my toes, smoking from wood and run
and then my face is in the sea, because who needs air when life is the sun trapping itself in the pink of my shoulder blades?