Tell me what it feels like
when the pole leaves your hands
and you are momentarily suspended
in the air, without benefit of wings,
flying as high as your effort
and training and will
can lift you—higher than I can ever imagine
being off the ground of my own volition;
for a single second does it seem
the earth will rise up to meet you,
the sky descend toward you,
so that these two elements,
earth and air, will join together
to hold you in a moment
of willing suspension from gravity,
as you soar up
and over the thin but resilient bar
that may bend and forgive
just this once,
staying in place as you brush it
and everyone cheers and calls your name
while you complete your arc
and land on the other side—
but you hear nothing,
only the sound of the wind
as you look back up across the sky
to see the bar still there
and know the medal is yours,
though what you really have won
was that moment of grace,
when you were completely free.

Copyright by Carolyn Zonailo: www.carolynzonailo.com, 2004