Flirting with Running

In discounted sneakers, Fred Meyer yoga pants, a tank top from a second-hand store, and an extra-supportive sports bra inherited from a fellow MFA student whose husband works for Patagonia, I am relieving residency tensions by flirting with morning running. Flirting, because a flirtation has benefits that a commitment negates—i.e., I don’t feel compelled to invest in pretty gear; whenever…

On The Trail to the Swamp

She is alone. Alone, with cats and dogs and fish. The morning is dark. She flicks on a kitchen light switch. She descends to the basement TV room to feed the flitting neon swimmers. She sees that she forgot, the previous night, to turn off the tank light. Her hand taps two shakes of flaked fish food into the lit…