Thought # 1 | Running

mitchell-orr-222165.jpgWhen I was young I never liked to run.

When the teacher blew the whistle I would walk to the line having spent my hour beneath the tree by the playground fence, talking to my friends about things in the news that scared us or watching the boys in our class run around after the other girls, the nicer girls, the girls who loved to run.

As I grew up I learned to love running, too. I learned to run without ever moving my feet. I loved to get as close as I could and then as far away as possible; to chase and then be chased.

The years ran by too, and with every race I won I found only a new starting line, another whistle blown, another face on the terrace watching as I ran away.

I glued the medals in a scrapbook; the envelopes resealed, my name in black ink.
No postal address. No stamp.

And, now, I try my best to be still.

My mind no longer runs. Though she wanders from time to time.

 

Poem #2 | Swinging

kaleb-kendall-208845

Swinging

 

If I remember anything about tonight,
I hope it’s the way that I¬†felt like Lux Lisbon
when I swung too high,
because the sunlight fell
down through the
leaves and grazed my eyes
and that’s what
Jeffrey would have wanted,
even though i’m not blonde,

and my bed never had a
canopy to hang my
rebellion on,
and we don’t ever get fish flies
where I come from,
and I’ve got the correct amount of
teeth in my mouth.

And how strange it had seemed to me
that I should feel like her,
when it was
Bonnie who swung from
the rope,
and it’s
Therese whose name I
almost
share.