“Balance is a survival skill you must master”
our exercise teacher repeatedly reminds us-
“If you fall and hurt yourself
it will be the beginning of the end,”
and so we try to mimic her-
like twenty old cranes,
heads crowned with white feathers,
we practice daily in the school gym,
determined to balance on one quivering leg,
if only for a few seconds.
We hold out our arms like sagging wings,
wishing we could lift our aching bodies off the floor
and fly away to Mexico or Hawaii,
where it is warm and the breezes carry
the sweet fragrance of plumeria, even in late winter.
Wobbling on one leg and then the other,
I squint at a rectangular wall socket below the stage,
let it blur into an image of an exotic star-shaped flower,
make it my spotting point so that I won’t fall over.
For three seconds I am graceful and strong again,
balanced as perfectly as a young crane
roosting by the tangled mangroves
that edge a dark green river bank.
I stand firmly on one leg and laugh,
dreaming of the Yucatan and my next life.

Johanna Ely is Benicia’s current poet laureate.

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