Pickup Poem Day 9

Treadmill

In the books for curious kids, they always say the heart

is the size a fist, squeezing time. Your brain is two

fists held together. By instinct they will make

the clench--as you and I are doing now. There will be a fight

when they learn forever won't include them. We make

hills and climb them, rent space, swear vows, look into soft 

shoes and gods for a few more years of knees bending.

A little more rhythm from that fist in the oath-taking

place, just left of the sternum. Everything after

curiosity is training.