Marathon
By Nick Flynn
on a river, a tree in blossom, one
pink bud—unopened—falls
& is carried downstream & out
to sea. From
above the other petals seem to
carry it. Closer—
this is our map, these our
footprints, we
grew up drinking this water. At the
start there
was doubt, we lit a torch, no one
believed we would
make it. Closer—
the legs, the heart, the lungs. It's
too soon to say
we were lucky, it's too soon to say
anything
until the cloud is pulled back
from the sky, until the ringing is
pulled back from the bells. Look—
everyone we've ever known
runs without thinking
not away but into the cloud, where we are
waiting
Copyright Credit: Nick Flynn, "Marathon" from My Feelings. Copyright © 2015 by Nick Flynn. Reprinted by permission of Graywolf Press.
Source: My Feelings (Graywolf Press, 2015)