Personal Best

Mid-April hits hot, 
the sun drying 
crusts of salt 

on the runners’ bodies
as the track meet edges 
toward evening.

There’s no harboring 
shade, no leaves 
on the trees.

Caregivers line 
the track in caps, 
beneath umbrellas, 

clap and call 
our children’s names,
then glance at phones 

after they pass. 
It’s the first meet 
of the season—

we’re not yet used 
to the cadence of contest, 
how jumping flows 

to throwing flows 
to running, the purgatory 
of in-between. 

We’re one 
in our well wishes 
for the last racer 

over the finish line. 
You got this!
Way to go!

The air’s cooled 
to 80 by the time
the 4 x 4 starts, 

the sun behind the hills. 
The official’s gun pops 
with a puff, 

and the racers launch. 
Their batons catch 
the low light 

as the runners pump 
their arms and legs 
around the curve. 

Their teammates roar
Go! Go! Let’s go! 
while their bodies 

cut through the still 
hot air, reaching, 
reaching… 

We cry out 
when one fumbles 
the handoff, the thud 

of metal on polymer—
the next runner 
snatches it up, 

bounds after the lost 
seconds, the lost 
ground. Our shouts

fill the field, flout 
the inevitability of time 
and space, defeat 

but a temporary stop 
along the tangents. 
The air lifts 

with a breeze 
as they fly 
by.

MARIE GAUTHIER

Marie Gauthier is the author of Leave No Wake (Pine Row Press, 2022) and the chapbook Hunger All Inside (Finishing Line Press, 2009). Her poems have appeared in Sugar House Review, The Common, Bracken, Hiram Poetry, and elsewhere.