Short Reads  Short Reads Summer Selection   Lo Spinario (bronze,
late first century BCE)  A long day, a long run, a long road And
somewhere on it you felt a pang, Nothing more. A quiver of
lightning,  Nothing to stop for. Only now, As you sit on the
stump of a blasted tree, Folding one leg over the other,
Drawing it up until your ankle Strains against your knee, as you
study The sole that is cradled in your hands—  Only now do you
notice a small hot rose Blushing under the skin, where a thorn
Broke into flesh. And you recall  That sudden twinge: a throb
subsiding In a wave, spurring you on past all Those ochre hills,
daring you to keep  A steady pace though you were tired Of those
hills, of pine after twisted pine Casting a net of needles in
your path,  Though a droning in your ears said The city would
fall, that the warning You carried would never arrive.  Once you
were caught in a blinding Torrent of rain, but the sky stayed
blue, Every other patch of land was dry,  And the air
surrounding you sharpened Th