Walking

These legs
have yet to fail me.
Twenty-two years of
sprained ankles,
scraped knees,
bruised shins,
and swollen memories.
And to this day,
I walk.
I walk with scars
that tell stories
of defeat and triumph.
I walk with imprints
embedded in my flesh,
imprints that conform
to the objects
that these scars
belonged to.
At times
I walk limp
when reminded
of what used to be,
finding ways
to sprint
and leap my way
over the hurdles
of sentiment.
I’ve won races,
but never bothered
to check the time.
Now I’m racing against
a clock with no hands,
running laps,
running in circles,
with no clue as
to where my
checkpoint lies.
Never short
of breath…
just running…
wishing that I was
walking.

Written by A.A. (circa 2001)



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