i’m always that girl
whose sprints you clocked
in the park on sundays
can still hear
wow, that was your best, sweetheart
i so longed to be your best
but you left your girls
with a quick exit
for a lifetime of sundays
gotta tell you
that wasn’t your best, sweetheart
we so longed to be your best
and on we walked as sisters—
later, during long chats
on the phone most sundays
we became our best, sweetheart
with each other
without you
i’m still that girl, a woman
running strong
in the world most days
and you, father-not-father:
you’ve missed it all
This poem has been sitting with me for months — a response to a complex, unresolved grief, and a positive memory I’ll always carry: my stepdad timing my sprints in the park on Sundays.
The poem started in anger, after I heard about his alarming health diagnosis, and over time shifted into something more expansive — a reflection on loss, absence, and the incredible power of sibling alliances and love in the face of challenge.
This evening (a Sunday), after finishing the poem, I went for a run in the bush. I played music — something I don’t usually do — and without thinking, I semi-sprinted 5 kilometres, feeling fully alive.
Part of the resolution of this poem came when my sister, who always said she couldn’t run, started running. When she visits, we’ll run together: women running strong in the world most days.
This poem is only one angle — my own — of a complex story.
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