5/9/26 (c)
The moment before I cross the finish line
I remember
brushing off the dirt,
rubbing my knees, crying,
then standing.
My friend had leg bone cancer—
for a decade now
has limped, a cane for balance.
Another, wheelchair bound,
removes prosthetic legs
at the bar for comfort.
A single misstep can set me back two years.
Still—
we keep standing.
