If I were to visit a treadmill, runneth forth,
I would wish for the sweat of my forefathers
to fill the empty floors,
each droplet erasing centuries of hysteria
and delusions and wipe the slate clean,
wipe my being free me of scandal and what has
trailed me from eons of the horrid.
I should wish that my hands, drenched,
would no longer hold the handles and I would
slip into a pool of magic, quietly and freely,
become one with the universe,
no shock to any sentient being.
Each droplet of sweat would detoxify my burned shield
that I long ago left to the Gods to carry,
build me back into a warrior made of gold
stardust ready also, to crumble, gently, as I wish.
I shall hope to meet with my father, at the hallucination point,
hold him once more, perhaps join him if I wished,
and once done, wipe the towel,
ready for the ascension.
Anna Rozwadowska 2019