“She’s quick
for how small she is,”
they say, laughing through their
how-did-she-win gasps for air,
all having tried to keep pace, and she
just smiles, just grins
with those catch-me-if-you-can
blushes flushing her face
because they can’t really tell,
through the swing of her legs,
the tangled hell of hair and sweat,
that she’s only trying to run
from everything she can’t remember
to forget.