A two-voice narrative poem in reflection—one walked, one ran
Written by T.J. Scott
Inspired by the author’s and Charlie Bell’s journeys
September sun, already above ninety,
pressed into my back like a question I couldn’t answer.
The dirt beneath me was so dry it had turned to dust,
sifting through the worn out soles of my shoes.
Every step filled with silence, each one louder than the last.
The platform was quiet, but not still,
commuters shifting weight between trains and obligations.
A cold breath of March pressed against my collar
as I realized I didn’t have to go back.
I walked to reunite my family,
a mission wrapped around a box and in newspapers.
But underneath those headlines,
was the quiet hope of holding my daughter on her third birthday,
the first I’d ever see.
I chose to run, not for a medal, but for meaning.
To traverse the geography of a country and of one self.
To write with clarity, not acclaim.
To trade the grind of ambition for the grace of becoming.
The green road sign stood alone as I approached,
bold white letters cut sharp against the bluest sky I’d ever seen.
Straight ahead, Las Vegas and the long way through.
To the left, Highway 60 and the unknown.
It didn’t just point, I felt it judge.
The platform chilled beneath my shoes,
footsteps echoed like distant clocks.
I gripped nothing but possibility,
and felt the weight of choosing begin.
I had come that far on sheer will,
but the promise I made to her had begun to crack under the heat and doubt.
The money hadn’t come, the plan was unraveling,
and all I had left was the will to press forward.
I would’ve given anything for clarity, or company.
I felt restless with the life I built too well,
a future engineered with numbers and tech.
The ache was not for what I had,
but what I’d miss by staying still.
The road never slows to match our pace.
It gives no warnings, grants no delay.
A new direction formed
from nothing but a single thought:
the time to move is now.
