The Half Marathon Runners

They are salmon swimming upstream,

Struggling against the constraint of their tired flesh.

I watch them at the finish line,

Each a puffing, gasping triumph.

Legs quivering,

They halt, hands on knees,

Bent over, creased like paper.

Their eyes gazing at bruised and static feet,

So recently pounding through the miles.

Some sprint the last steps,

Smiles of triumph on their faces,

They run with lively bravery,

Rushing towards the spectating crowds eagerly.

Their end of the race marks the abolition of a long-distance loneliness.

Others hobble on wobbly ankles,

Feet burning,

Lines of pain carved across their sweat streaked faces.

We call to the tired ones,

Words of encouragement,

Promises of praise and rest.

I welcome each and every one,

The quick, the slow, the young, the old,

Even the cart wheeling professionals,

Eerily thin and disbelievingly fast.

But it is for you I wait and watch,

And at last,

When you come forward and cross that line,

I cry your name out aloud,

And clap so hard,

That the palms of my hands do sting.

by ClaraJean (2011)