The only really good pain
Is the kind you give yourself.
Like putting red-cold thighs
Into a tub of hot water.
This morning I ran in the crackle fresh snow
Not to feel pain,
But to feel known
By something other than a lover
A few times, I stopped, just long enough to
Fix my clothes into a place where
Nothing was exposed.
Where I stopped just long enough
To feel the sweat chill at the base of my pony tail.
I am no new animal
And it comforts me
To know that I’m one of a
Billion living things
That sought out a snow cold morning,
When a warm den is the only thing
Keeping us from connecting to the everything,
Or the nothing.
(Depending on what you’re after.)
I’m glad that it can make us laugh,
On a morning where warmth
Is not the only thing.