Grave

Why do we run

Are we escaping, chasing, or merely passing through

I’m not sure whether I’m coming or going.

I pass gravestones marking those who’ve passed

They don’t haunt me, or even provoke. They are unobtrusive, present, and permanent

Unlike my steps.

There are snakes.

here, without a doubt.

I dodge them in advance, with loud footfalls, pounding in my ears and shaking the ground.

Cacti dot this path, along with patches of flattened grass, brought here by the roaming water buffalo

There are birds, everywhere. Dragonflies dart here and there, misty sun overseeing all as it makes its way across the fields.

This is solitary work

but I am not alone

I’m unsure why I committed to 5 km a day

I don’t have a runner’s body, it’s a bit too stocky, and has the flexibility of, well, an old man.

Takes one to know one

But, tired legs and all, I continue,

as I do

And make my way through these shrubby rolling patches, amongst the bulls

Why do we run

Because sometimes the only way out is through

Nah

that way scares me

I’m not sure which demons are chasing me through these graves in Central Vietnam

But I’m quite sure they are the same ones that have chased me for years

I know them a bit better now,

and familiarity breeds contempt

My choices are three:

Ride the wave

Dive under the wave

Or let it pummel me

And I honestly don’t know which one I’m choosing

as I put one step after the other.

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