Glass

It's crowded behind the starting line

but the people around her take some of the chill off the morning air

She stands in shorts and a jog bra,

gloves and arm warmers,

a band around her head keeping her ears warm

minutes before the start

She goes into her routine

Kneels and checks the snugness of her shoes

Makes sure the laces are securely tied

At this point she always notices how

from knee high

The runners at a marathon are like a forest of legs

So many sinewy legs

So many miles

So many stories

She checks the fit of her shorts, her top

Then pulls the insulin pump from her waistband

She sees her blood sugar number on its touch screen

And a graph indicating whether it is rising or falling

She smiles at the technology helping her today

It hasn't always been this way

Her first syringe was made of glass.

She didn't like shots, but adjusted fast

A pediatric nurse told her Mom to be proud

then, very serious, but not very loud

"She's a brave little girl, but she may not last"

Fifty-five years on
she’s about to run

yet another marathon

comfortable in the crowd at the starting line