Balance

Right foot flat,
fingertips lightly touching
the mat,
left leg in the air
(I wish it were raised high,
But it’s only level with my torso),
left arm straight up
as if I’m frozen in
mid-cartwheel
when time stopped.
Breathe.

Explain
how to ride a bike —
the push of the pedal,
the turn of the handlebars.
Easy as common sense
no physics lesson needed
(unless you really want to know).
But that
elusive
balance…

You know it
when you feel it.
The pause
the suspension
the stillness.

I have a friend who craves
balance in her busy life.
For me it exists
only inside the movement
halfway between up
and down.
Not left, not right,
but in the middle.

Ballerinas twirl
on pointe.
Gymnasts flip on the balance beam.
But somewhere is
the center of stillness,
the core of silence
in their blood
only seen from very far away.

The opposite of microscope.
Untouchable with even a telescope.
No smell or taste.
Demonstrated but not seen.
Delicate as a newborn baby,
blink and the child has
already changed.