It’s 7:17 on 7/17

I’m running down Willow Wood like it’s a dream

Beneath the pink crepe myrtles

Their branches shed bark

The sidewalk and the road are my journal

Every step, a spark

On 7/17 my jog is a scribble

I ponder everyone a little

The cool guy from high school

7/17’s his birthday

He liked surfing waves

What about all my other friends from 20 years ago

How is it that we’re all grown

Is it normal in one’s mid-30s to feel alone

All my friends are in other states or cities

I doubt they think about or miss me

Family members have died while others turn white

Running over the bridge, what a sight

It’s the same one I ran over 20 years ago

My pace is 7:17/mi, not slow

Out here, I can control my pace

But not anywhere else

Against the traffic I set my face

Do I have anything in common with anyone

I’m not the mother of two or three

But I’m having fun

Under the crepe myrtles, over the bridge, it’s just me

Is there a way to stop those trees from shedding

Or in this humidity to keep from sweating

Surely not at a pace of 7:17

Is there a way to slow it down

To revel in it like it’s a dream

Can I figure out what any of it means

Not for now

So I keep on running

Each step is a word, each stride a page

Guess I’ll keep going till this body gives way

Like the bark of a crepe myrtle

Loneliness on 7/17 is just another hurdle