March 31, 2008
By Rachel Kalayjian, Solon, OH

She whispered in his ear a soft melody
About the other day, she said she felt free.
Above the oaks she claimed she soared
All awhile the thunder roared.
It was something in his eyes that seemed to say
Tell me about that one fine day.

And so she told him everything in her heart,
The mystical, fanciful, glorious art.
The radiant sunshine, the brilliant sky
The crisp autumn air through which she could fly.
The expression on her face, her satisfied sigh
But after a while, he knew it a lie.

Her bent, calloused hands, and withered, dry skin
Seemed to hold her true story deep down within.
And yet she remained fixated in her rickety chair
Out the window she focused her stare.
There was a pack of runners bounding in synchronized stride
Though heavy fog, they seemed to glide.

But you’re young still, she said.
Don’t pay me mind.
You don’t need to stop, halt, or rewind.
Everyone is moving, no one can see--
Oh how I wish I still knew
What it felt to run free.

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