work in progress

Something I wrote after Zelda's Sunday night. Needs polishing but I think there's something good here:

Wednesday mornings now I go running
almost a year now
not far, about three miles, halfway out then turn and come back
(out downhill, back uphill)
nice paved path, on pleasant days I pass moms with strollers, old people out walking

before I turn around and run back I turn off into the woods for a few minutes, along a trickle creek

sometimes, right about there
I feel him running with me
my grandfather
I know he was a runner when he was younger
before I knew him
before a war wound, before old age

but I know he ran like this, felt the legs pounding the earth, the earth pushing back, the alchemy of motion, breath in and out like the tides

Sometimes when I run I feel like melting wax
the stiffness of my anger becoming flow
in the alchemy of motion

I know that anger was in him
His stiffness, his stern judgement
I wonder if his melted too when he ran

When I get tired I run for him
I run for my mother, his daughter
sometimes victim of that anger
sometimes, when she was my age, a runner herself

sometimes I am running for these ancestors
connecting the generations
through the alchemy of motion

if I keep moving
the surface tension will hold us all up
if I keep moving
the wind will give us lift
if I keep moving
the chain of a thousand generations streams out behind
if I keep moving
they all live in me

through the alchemy of movement
they all live in me

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