January we start to train
for the May marathon
we have come to love:
swell of pink walkers
flooding DC streets,
graham crackers at reststops
cowbells and crowds
a notion of common purpose,
our tired feet counterbalanced
by our good friends.
January, the cold will slice us
but we will turn our faces
just so to the sun, the wind
will not deter us, we will be warmed
by each other and our floating
talk—recipes and reminiscences,
what the summer held,
where winter might go, a house
that catches our eye, a bathroom—
we will be good for it
and each other.
We have no destination
but that.
© by Janice Schuster.
Used with the author’s permission.