December 6, 2016

dreaming of Carl Lewis

Are you here, too, a part of your legs still 12, still tensing
at the thoroughfare of hurdles 25 yards out and yet already lifting,
soaring over the rail, your laces tight as promises? Are your lungs
taking their full fill as they did back then, staring down the barrel
of that track? I remember that summer, glued as I was
to the unfolding narrative of a superstar I was so sure
was looking straight at me when he took his place at the starting block
and the crowd grew silent. I was hardly gifted in his language, not
by a long shot, but there he was, beckoning with each muscle, telling me,
in no uncertain terms, I was running the race of my life.