A Writer’s Exercise
JoAnne Growney

The warm-up track for harness-racers
is a privileged place to jog—
my spine and knees and ankles like the soft
landings of my sneakers on loose sand
and, though I’m regularly passed,
I’m saluted with sulky drivers’ nods
and whinnies from the sturdy Standard-breds—
these horses lift my spirits and, at last,

my legs find steady pace, my chestnut mane
rises and floats.  My gallop lifts me beyond
the turn of track, across the field, past traffic.  
I don’t hear auto horns, don’t feel the stares
of bystanders.  I rise to where words draft
themselves into swinging, ringing bells.

From Issue 1, Number 1