Ode to the Acrobats
The vinyl squeaks beneath bare feet,
rimmed with sweat from the June humidity. The garage door
is open and the heat radiates
through my body as I try to catch my breath.
Jess yells
again
and I hoist myself onto the metal bar,
curved and slick beneath my palms. It digs into my hips
leaving purple and green bruises that ache
every time I sit. Again
Jess yells once more. The women around me begin twirling
and dipping and flying through the air. I hold on
with all my might—stagnant. My bones beg
to rest after forty five minutes straight
of pure physicality.
It’s nothing like what you see on stage; the glamour.
Pain,
failure, and
exhaustion
are the words that come to my mind. But it’s all
in the act. The great acrobat who never winces;
who makes it look easy.
No Comments.