Today's poem is by Tracey Herd

What I Remember

is not the race itself but the evening
which disappeared in a tangle of diving
sunlight and nerves as I hugged myself,
chilled, and waited for the starter, bent
forward, the tang of mown grass
sprayed like water and the white lines
freshly painted on the spongy red track,
breasting the tape, alone and splendid,
queen of my own universe, then the medal
like a tiny sun catching the last of the light,
and feeling as if my heart would burst.

Copyright © 2016 Tracey Herd All rights reserved
from Not in This World
Bloodaxe Books
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission

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