The Worst Year of My Life
Dec 6 2008


The worst year of my life
may not have happened yet.
Which is how memory works —
the past, softening,
the future
where all is possible.
Or it’s the thin consolation
things could always be worse.

Today, the sky was clear
the snow powder
the wind fierce,
and I ran and ran
until it felt my lungs would burst,
swaddled in layer upon layer.
Cold air crystallizes everything
and speed sets me free —
the feel of sinew and skin,
muscle memory.
The load slips-off
with thoughtless ease.
And time stops.
And I decide not
to keep track
or score.

When the first day of the rest of my life begins
I hope I never notice.
I will own it all,
what’s to come
what went before.
But most of all
I’m a long distance runner —
setting a steady pace,
centred-in on the breathing,
one foot
methodically following the other.