The Acrobat
I was not
Momentum's child; showed
no savvy for somersaults, no head
for handsprings. Frightened of flips, I preferred
my body inert as I fumbled
through books of high-speed
photographs—scenes
of motion frozen:
bullets splitting
the ace of spades, a ballet
of droplets sprung
from the fur of a St. Bernard,
Bartlett pears and teacups
escaping their architecture.
With each new page, I vowed
to master symmetry so God
could catch me in my perfect moment.
I would be
the bullet. I would be
the spinning
coin at its apex: just as its light
shifts into petals.
The trick is to suspend
disbelief, sound and self.
Don't think
twice about the crowd. Make
a deal with gravity. This
is true precision, crouched
and waiting, deep
in the fish of your spine.
Now leap. Now freeze the frame.
KRISTEN MCHENRY is a Seattle-based poet. Her manuscript “The Goatfish Alphabet” was runner-up in qarrtsiluni's 2009 chapbook contest, and was recently published by Naissance Chapbooks. She is the creator and facilitator of the Poet's Cafe, a poetry workshop for homeless teens. She can often be found napping in front of the TV, her poetry journal as a prop. Kristen blogs at www.thegoodtypist.blogspot.com.
