These are not streets
I have walked before
in daylight or night,
and never side by
side
with a thoroughbred,
whose long strides
I struggle to keep
pace with,
down the sidewalk into
the lower part of a city she knows
better than I,
though it is more of
a stroll
down a memory lane,
with not all the
memories pleasant,
a trip through time,
a trek through the history of her life,
which I might not have suspected
before this except for the hints
she's dropped like bread crumbs
we follow in and out
of
these precarious woods
we call life,
taking the path least
traveled others avoid,
not her, she seems to
thrive on challenge,
even if it keeps her up at night,
feeding other furies
of the world,
a harsh task master
who is most harsh on herself,
each step taking us
deeper inside her.
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