Trying Out

 

We stood on the front lawn, a thick mass of grass

spread before us like heaven unfurled.

It was that beautiful a day, late summer.

The day I wanted to be a cheerleader.

We started with simple moves, cartwheels, headstands.

Our backs arched, shoulders straight, pelvis tucked back.

The day I wanted to be a cheerleader.

I had obstacles to face: no flexibility (at age twelve)

couldn’t do a cartwheel, let alone a flip or a headstand.

I rode my bike home, lawns tidy squares, bushes clipped,

small trees carrying heavy bunches of orange berries.

The day I wanted to be a cheerleader.

I practiced doing headstands in the living room,

finally steading myself, my toes pointing at the ceiling

until I crashed, bumping head with knee. Hard.

Instantly tired, I fell asleep, unaware that even minor

concussions mean don’t go to sleep right away.

But I was so tired the afternoon I wanted to be a cheerleader.