Sprinting on Sprained Ankles,
You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
For a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.
rain drips from the trailer
onto my forehead.
it feels like a communion.
and i'm working on letting things feel holy,
on letting things sit
a little longer.
i'm trying to be more
than a vehicle
driven by desire,
tired of burning
each time i imagine a distance.
about all the times
people have said you'll be eaten alive.
i've already made short work of myself—
i sprint on sprained ankles,
cut no slack
for someone with a long list of bruises.
at every desert's mouth, my knees
are the only place i have
Katey Linskey is a writer with poetry out in Rise Up Review and The West Review. She draws from her experiences growing up in Boston and later living in India and Guatemala. She spent six years working in global health and currently works as a ghostwriter.