Proving Grounds, The

What Scares Me

36 whAT scAres me I used to run like Christmas lights blinking Steadfast through the night, Their brief fading pulses their only pause. I ran before mourning doves started each day, I ran in the noon’s direct heat, That in the high Sonoran desert Sometimes tops a hundred fifteen, I ran in the evening When you can feel the air shift Like the inside of a barrel cactus, Its tight, white meat. I rolled on Like a factory that doesn’t shut down Until its hydraulic arms give out, The strange lift of grind and pitch My knee joint forever warming up, My blood a lubricated circle Of this American disease: Fully articulated in movement, Striving, as long as you are winning your race, And as soon as you stop You are discarded Like the bodies of Christmas trees Dragged to the edge of the street. ...