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Half Moon Run
Half Moon Run
By Laura Summervlle Reed
I’ve started to run. To draw air into my lungs
to push thoughts out of my head, because
I struggle constantly between the two polar fields
of vanity and grace; the desire to remain one of the
beautiful people and the perseverance to make it so.
After midnight when most people are sleeping
I don a tank top, a pair of shorts that barely
pass as underwear, and cheap sneakers.
My daughter is appalled. I assure her
she shouldn’t worry, all the respectable people
are in their beds by now. My feet hit the concrete
with a gate that is unfamiliar to me.
My usually lithe body becomes ungainly, lumbering.
Perhaps I should do this in heels. I’ve always
been better suited to the dance floor
than an exercise mat. But this should come naturally to me
I have the body of a runner, no, I have the body of
a ten year old boy with the unfortunate luck to have
sprouted the breast of a forty-five year old, mother of two.
I am a solitary creature. I plod along so late at my clumsy pace
for this reason. I choose no plodding companion
but the moon. Tonight there is half of her.
There has been half of me for quite some time and she knows,
and she urges me along with her pensive gaze and wan smile.
Dear Moon, Do you ever tire of the constant changes?
I think not. ‘Tis what makes you whole again. Tomorrow you
are one day closer to being new again. A fresh start,
a clean slate. Dear Moon, Teach me the gracefulness
of your phases, the endings, the beginnings, those that
make you whole, again.