an ode to running in the form of a prose poem

In our house, the shoes are muddy and four pairs of ankles
Ache. Before we sat still, weights on our back like
Sisyphus. And the trance, the rhythm, it frees and fixes our fractured past, our boulders built from problems and preoccupation. Now we sit back straight, feet planted, gaze ahead.

Sometimes if you stand long enough on 
What we call the sacred circle, you can taste the 
Melted sun on your face, the red grains. And I’m trying to scoop it up and
Save it for later, but every time I exhale, it escapes.

Wait for me, I want the wind and rain and cold and sunny days.
I want the pounding ache, heartbreak, fast strides, white lanes.
Wait for me and hold up the horizon. Lace up and cover our bare feet. Start on the Pavement and switch to trail. Somehow the heart and mind guide us
Through the tangled paths.

We can do the distance and when our soles
Turn gray, we’ll head home and hang our coats. We’ll run far and come
Back because that’s the type of humans we are.
Another day, another infinite race, the start and end in the same place.
Our small freedom.

Process

While at a poetry workshop, I explored writing a piece about the history of objects or ideas and took the chance to express my thoughts and feelings about my favorite sport- running. The poem first started out as a simple list of all the sides and experiences to running and then soon began to take form and fully flesh out after the workshop, when I started to connect all the ideas together into a flowing prose poem. This was one of the first prose poems I’d written early on in the year (I usually write free verse or spoken word) and I’m super proud of how it turned out.