My Time

The red faced clock is counting time
It’s getting close. It really is

At the starting line I count too
Feeling like I’ll be too slow
A sea of racing shorts meant for
Long lean legs belonging to those
Front runners, pressing forward who
Will be long gone while I still wait

And yet along them I stand too
Not thin, or tall, or dressed for swift
Breakaway at gun’s loud shout for
Starting me, while fast flee those
In long leg clothes, unsmiling who
If I stumble will run me down I fear

So forward with them I move too
The day ahead lies far and long
But gone are those whose day is for
Competing forward and crushing those
That threaten their podium post. Which who
Will stand in first while all else grieve?

Today I run with my goals too
In legs not long, in skirt swinging short
A day of smiles of miles is for
Thanking pacer, volunteers and those
Along the lines with cheering faces who
Treat my pace as first place and Rejoice

I may struggle when it’s difficult but
Those smiling faces cheering for
A girl’s pink skirt, not fast like those
Long gone, streaked past here who
So focused fast have missed the love
Pouring around them the whole time
The race, it’s fast, but more it is
The joy of sharing a moment of Eternity

Because I was busy running a 50-mile race, I missed writing yesterday’s poem. It seemed appropriate to write about the race. Yesterday’s prompt from NaPoWriMo was to write a “golden shovel.” This form was invented by Terrance Hayes in his poem, The Golden Shovel. The last word of each line of Hayes’ poem is a word from Gwendolyn Brooks’ poem We Real Cool. You can read Brooks’ poem by reading the last word of each line of Hayes’ poem. The poem imbedded at the end of each line of my poem is an anonymous poem titled “Time”.

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