I never thought of myself as

running,

but I do—

jog to the house

from the car a fourth time

for my phone, more coffee, the shopping list.

Nothing I need.

My hands swing

from doorknob to cup to keys,

eyes drifting,

no help to anyone.

My children wait,

burning in their seats.

Do I forget them?

Hurry up, please.

Melt me.

I want to become

someone who holds on,

who stays.