Reading Anna Karenina

In middle age Tolstoy apprenticed himself
to a bootmaker. He labored at learning
the skills of that trade. Sometimes his fingers
bled onto the leather as he punched the awl
or drew the needle in the outline of a foot.
Blisters, he knew, are holier than ink stains.
The boots were ugly and they pinched,
Sonya complained, and she refused to wear them.
Yet she copied Karenina by hand
how many times? It was his words she loved,
how he formed souls out of air. Just breath.
She preferred the page's purity to his
restless hands. If he were a man made only
of words she'd give her whole self to him.

Karina Borowicz

I never liked to run,
I still don't think I do yet I do it anyway.
You see, it's a lot like being with you.
I look forward to it
yet when I'm there
I sweat and sweat my fears away,
pants and groans escape my lips
and all it takes is one more minute,
one more step
until I can slow down again.

I leave the machine
and the machine may be you,
sweaty and broken,
a little bit bruised, ego wise,
not so much physically.
You see, you and me,
we belong in a love story
but not the ones that they tell in the movies.
No,
ours is much more realistic,
much more pragmatic,
we are both old and ugly
yet your body is fantastic.

So love me today,
love me tonight,
love me after I go for a run,
love me before I even think the thought of you
loving me in the morning sun.
I look forward to seeing you,
post run, pre shower,
post shower, pre run.
Running is definitely a lot like
being with you.