Anchorage, on a cool grey day.
Monday, July 27, 2009
Kelley
Running on empty
Laughter and morning shouts
Drift up from the kitchen-
My alarm.
I swing legs over,
Plop bare feet onto the cool wood floor,
Slide into Nike's
That look new
But aren't.
In a sleepy fog
I step over the
Cheerio landmines
And banana slime stuck to the floor.
Another breakfast with Daddy.
My own coffee awaits,
A true old friend,
My caffeinated confidente
Comme toujours.
"All aboard and out the door," I say.
We're off,
Me and my pal,
His blond mop of curls
Bouncing along in the BOB,
Our morning run.
Up the slow grade
Into the forest,
My brick-laden running legs
Moan.
They now think laps are
Chasing toy trucks,
Sprinting intervals to catch
A diaper-less toddler.
The track workouts
And daily mileage
Are a distant memory.
But I dream of running.
Legs moving
Fast.
Somewhere.
Anywhere.
For hours again.
A machine on auto,
Turning on and tuning out.
Quick feet, light heart.
But up the straight forest blacktop I go,
Pushing.
My sweaty palm grips the bar
And the pull to the left
Drives me crazy.
I'm thinking:
Gotta fix these wheels,
Gotta run more,
Gotta get up earlier,
Go to bed sooner,
Clean the house, take more naps, eat less sugar, read more,
Cook more, get out more often....
Looking down,
I see where the jolts originate.
Grandfather Frost's good work:
"Step on a crack, break your mother's back"
I'm careful.
They scream across the pavement
In random stretches.
So I jump,
After all-
I am a mother.
Passing mile 3
I see
My buddy asleep,
His curly mop resting on the side of the stroller.
So I turn.
Downhill,
Lead beads of sweat
Drip.
I feel lighter,
Freer,
More than a mom.
The wind picks up,
I don't even see the cracks
As they blur by under the wheels.
Legs flying,
My mind drifts:
To travel Europe by rail with only a journal,
To learn another language or two,
To teach abroad and play the piano.
To write a book and learn to cook
Well.
Someday.
My legs cramp,
The shadows retract
As the temperature climbs the morning ladder.
And I remember,
"Step on a crack..."
Slowing to a walk,
I hear our creek,
The steady applause of its tumbling water
Over age-old rocks.
And I know it's OK.
To this blond mop of curls
Maybe I'm the world,
For now.
I'm just running on empty
And living full.
Laughter and morning shouts
Drift up from the kitchen-
My alarm.
I swing legs over,
Plop bare feet onto the cool wood floor,
Slide into Nike's
That look new
But aren't.
In a sleepy fog
I step over the
Cheerio landmines
And banana slime stuck to the floor.
Another breakfast with Daddy.
My own coffee awaits,
A true old friend,
My caffeinated confidente
Comme toujours.
"All aboard and out the door," I say.
We're off,
Me and my pal,
His blond mop of curls
Bouncing along in the BOB,
Our morning run.
Up the slow grade
Into the forest,
My brick-laden running legs
Moan.
They now think laps are
Chasing toy trucks,
Sprinting intervals to catch
A diaper-less toddler.
The track workouts
And daily mileage
Are a distant memory.
But I dream of running.
Legs moving
Fast.
Somewhere.
Anywhere.
For hours again.
A machine on auto,
Turning on and tuning out.
Quick feet, light heart.
But up the straight forest blacktop I go,
Pushing.
My sweaty palm grips the bar
And the pull to the left
Drives me crazy.
I'm thinking:
Gotta fix these wheels,
Gotta run more,
Gotta get up earlier,
Go to bed sooner,
Clean the house, take more naps, eat less sugar, read more,
Cook more, get out more often....
Looking down,
I see where the jolts originate.
Grandfather Frost's good work:
"Step on a crack, break your mother's back"
I'm careful.
They scream across the pavement
In random stretches.
So I jump,
After all-
I am a mother.
Passing mile 3
I see
My buddy asleep,
His curly mop resting on the side of the stroller.
So I turn.
Downhill,
Lead beads of sweat
Drip.
I feel lighter,
Freer,
More than a mom.
The wind picks up,
I don't even see the cracks
As they blur by under the wheels.
Legs flying,
My mind drifts:
To travel Europe by rail with only a journal,
To learn another language or two,
To teach abroad and play the piano.
To write a book and learn to cook
Well.
Someday.
My legs cramp,
The shadows retract
As the temperature climbs the morning ladder.
And I remember,
"Step on a crack..."
Slowing to a walk,
I hear our creek,
The steady applause of its tumbling water
Over age-old rocks.
And I know it's OK.
To this blond mop of curls
Maybe I'm the world,
For now.
I'm just running on empty
And living full.
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