At the 1984 Summer Olympics
in Los Angeles, a marathon miracle occurred,
a marvel of distance and persistence,
struggling, disoriented, vulnerable,
Gabriela Andersen-Schiess
did not win gold, but won the stadium,
as witnesses to loss and triumph,
their hearts breaking and rising together,
joined in the same Mass
of human frailty and fortitude,
seeing the spirit, naked and grotesque,
her limbs cramping and contorting,
a puppet on its last fraying string—
the body on its own crutches;
dying, and refusing death.
The Finish Line our own beginning.
Olympic Games
Naim Süleymanoğlu
“Thou art no Atlas for so great a weight.”
—William Shakespeare
Condemned to hold up the canopy of the sky,
Burdened with the strength of Hercules
In so small a body as mine.
Resolve among my virtues.
To lift such weight is to defeat gravity
Inside yourself, to rely on spirit
To shoulder the heaviness of life—
Heavier still the will to quit.
Gold Medal
I would have wished a gold medal,
To stand upon the pedestal
Wearing the flag of my country
With my head bowed humbly,
The grace of poetry at my sides.
But at what cost does gold outshine the sun
Whose radiance will come undone.
I celebrate this moment while it lives,
Knowing that beyond me, time will run,
And exhaust all distances.
Salvatore Ala 