Winding Down

After running, I lay myself down
on the throw rug, belly floorwards,
and listen to my heartbeat slacken.
The throb untangles and draws out
to stillness. Recumbent,
a thick heat flushes outward
and there’s a trance of the mind
in abeyance, the body unwinding,
the snag of inertia that follows exertion -
a feeling not to tease into thought
until the run is over.

Like a tunnel emptying at both ends,
I feel myself lengthen with each exhalation.
It is strange to observe the body
close down, like letting a clock do its work,
deciding nothing. I press the heels
of my palms against my eyelids.
I turn my eyes back into my body
and see there’s nothing in there,
nothing and no one.

Sarah Sloat