the hula hoop artist
Who knows how she kept that trio of rings spinning,
how the slimmest of movements led to the suspension of gravity
and disbelief? I would surely have fumbled with the trick, hips flying
wildly out of control at the first sign of trouble, a catastrophe
of illogic and imbalance, so I stood transfixed as grace turned
the air into concentric, centrifugal magic. It would be smarter,
I thought, to stay out of the way, let genius shine alone, though my mind burned
with envy. But my body barely paid attention, and left my ego in the gutter
in favor of single plastic loop abandoned on the grass. Something in me couldn’t stop.
We begin where we begin. My hands, defiant and ecstatic, bent to pick it up.