Run Girl Run
Run, Girl, Run
She was just eleven, small and spry,
Her father said, “You’re due, oh my…”
A spanking, harsh, the kind she knew,
But this time she thought, “Not today, not you.”
He called her brothers, big and loud,
“Go catch your sister—make me proud!”
She took off running, barefoot and wild,
With twenty meters head start, a desperate child.
The boys gave chase, they huffed, they cried,
But with every step, she multiplied
The space between, she flew like wind—
The girl they thought was small and pinned.
Her father stood and scratched his head,
Watching the blur of her legs as she fled.
The next day came, he had a plan,
Took her to school, proud as a man.
“Test her,” he said, “not with her age.
Put her with girls two years ahead on the stage.
She’ll outrun them all, I swear she might—
But if she doesn’t, she’ll get it tonight.”
They marked the track, a 1200-meter race,
She stepped on the line, fear in her face.
Not fear of losing or shoes that pinched—
But of that spanking if she flinched.
They said, “You’ll get tired, slow it down.”
But she didn’t hear them, not a sound.
All she saw was a belt and a chair,
So she ran like her life depended on air.
She broke every record, flew past the pack,
Not once did she stumble, not once look back.
The coaches screamed, “She’s one of a kind!
This girl’s got fire, this girl can fly!”
Districts called, and her name was known,
For once, she felt like she’d found a home.
Her father smiled, stood proud in the sun,
For that whole season, she was someone.
He talked to her, coached her like gold,
Like all her worth was speed to behold.
Her mother frowned, her siblings hissed,
Jealous of the praise that she had missed.
The mother drove, but her smile was tight,
She kept the times but burned with spite.
Couldn’t stand how the girl had shone,
Or how her father clapped her on.
Then the season ended—just like that—
No more tracks, no starting mats.
And just as quick, the warmth withdrew,
The house turned cold, and silence grew.
She was a ghost again in her own home,
A record-breaker left alone.
But deep inside, she still held tight
The memory of that run, that flight.
Copyright © Cathrin Vici Kiehm | Year Posted 2025
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