a reflection in st. patrick's garden

Once a year, I take a stroll to the graves
To reaffirm my place in humanity.
I always stop before the same plot,
My ambition's final resting place.

As I fall to my knees,
My face brushes a solitary daffodil;
Rejecting the stars,
And numbering the days until you return to me.

The feeling lingers;
The corolla is a pillow:
Always cool, and unwavering in its
Protective state.

As I fall into sleep,
I'm in your arms again:
An imperfect reflection in your eyes,
Destined to be a faulty anchor to your life.

And then the petals are
Razor blades,
Cutting, tearing, peeling
At the flesh, and what was once whole is
Nevermore.

But then I see it's
Just a flower;
The flora to my fauna,
Blowing along in the wind.

palpitations

The pace quickens,
My heart stops.
I close my eyes, and
My soul drops.

when guns go off

I've always found interest in reading newspaper summaries of track meets. Millions of articles are written about so and so winning the mile, or D-R clinching another title. Then there's the postseason recap, where we all ready about working hard, and overcoming adversity. But not once do they talk about the feeling associated with track. No combination of words could describe the sensation of having a gun go off near your head in the middle of New Bedford (and live). No amount of ink on a page can give an outsider the feeling of reaching your physical limits, and pushing past them. Ladies and gentlemen, track is more than a sport; it's an experience.

These past four years have really shaped me as an individual. Track has solidified the idea of sportsmanship in my everyday actions, and taught me to push through whatever boundaries I have envisioned for myself. Track has shown me that the collective effot of a wholly dedicated group triumphs over the effort of a few self-interested individuals (such as the Seekonk Warriors). It has taught me that every personal best, whether it be mine, or an opponent's, is a victory for all of mankind. I hope you pardon the cliché when I say that track has helped define the real...me.

I'd like to pause for a second to address the juniors. Now, I realize that this may be the furthest thing from your minds right now, but every step you take, whether it be out these doors tonight or down to the track for practice, brings you closer to the end. We're very lucky here to have the dedication of individuals like Mr. Rubin, Mr. Fyfe, Mr. Espinosa, and Mr. Antani, as their heart and soul translates to opportunity on our part. So, juniors, cherish every moment; savor every last lap you run on that track, as each marks one less moment you have left until you're standing where I am.

I'd like to leave you all tonight with a story: John Stephen Akhwari, a Tanzanian marathon runner in the 1968 Olympics, fell and hurt his knee in the early stages of the race. Rather than quit, he kept running, and finished the race. When asked why he did not quit, he responded, "My country did not send me 5,000 miles to start a race, they sent me 5,000 miles to finish one". I know I speak for all of us seniors in saying that I will miss winter track, but I know we're going out with a bang in spring. Thank you.