Posts Tagged ‘walking’

That was the day
that she stopped the car
at the edge of the highway,
opened the door,
got out and began to walk.
Past the ditch full of cattails
and blue plastic bags,
past the yellow mail box,
past the house with the royal blue roof,
past the dead cat,
past the empty cardboard box,
she did not look back,
past the man digging in his field
who remarked it was too hot
to walk, and she nodded and
kept on walking.

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Tonight I am too blood tired
to pretend I am happy.
Too tired to hold up any
face. Outside the world is slow-
ing to a stiller version
of itself. I feel myself
stilling, but not ending, not
yet. I once heard a story
about a man who ran bare
foot through a cornfield in fall
and woke the next day with holes
in his feet. For years, I have
dreamed it was me, and could I
go on walking after that?
Tonight the word is yes. Tired
as I am, the drive to walk
and walk and fall in love with
the world—though harsh, though bristled—
is stronger than any urge
to give up. If I give up
anything, it’s this crazy
compulsion to please. I am
tired, too blood tired to pretend
anything, but not too tired
to keep on walking, walking.

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