Atalanta

Here's the race as seen by Atalanta.  I'm not sure it's a companion poem to the Hippomenes piece.  She just said what she wanted to say. The words led me where they wanted to go, so I feel less in control of how this poem may or may not fit in.  (Future drafts may take on more conscious shaping.)

     Atalanta

Mother said to play hard to get
and the boys would lose their heads
over me – and she was as right
as right can be. Once I stopped
running after them, they started
running after me.

It was then I realized the race
mattered more than the racers
and the coursing more than the course.
My feet led me where I had to go,
moving me so fast,
the world seemed slow.

Until I began to tire of leading
the way, of hearing nothing
but the breeze of my going
and the lonely music
of my own breath.
Running was too easy
and too hard,
so when I saw
those golden apples,
though the boy was nothing
special, he gave me a reason
to rest.