written on the mirror

No. I will not run.

even though my jogging shorts are all laid out,
sports bra on the bed,
gym shoes at the door.
Even though
outside
the pavement would be smooth
and cool
beneath my feet,
and I am inside
knee deep in volcanic fire overflow.
No. I will not run.

Anchor my ankles to the water pipe,
wrap my wrists with wire,
bind the belt about my waist.
Hold me still.
Push the inhalation through my lungs.
Breathe.
I will not move my legs
at all.
No. I will not run!

even though the running pulses through my blood.
Even though I used to speed on the adrenaline,
impromptu marathons at four a.m.,
exhilarating
down the open road
long before the lava could have even reached my pinkie toe,
approaching
hot against the heels,
and I'd have fled
to everyone's dismay.
My trademark unexpected race away.

But no.
I won't.
I will not run today.