POEM A DAY – September 2 & Creativity Cavern Fall Forum!

Parachute

that’s what the gym teacher called it. (remember gym teachers?)
that huge, round, multi-coloured wind-breaker material-ed
circle that was stuffed into the bottom of the floor hockey stick
cylinder in the equipment room (remember equipment rooms?).
we were instructed to get in a circle as the teacher carried
the lump of flimsy colours to the centre, then dropped it.
(a heap so wrinkled, irons everywhere were wetting themselves.)
we were instructed to walk slowly, reach in and grip a piece of
parachute, then walk slowly back to our spot in the circumference.

I remember it felt wet. It smelled like rubber and sweat and dust.
I remember the constant tugs of schoolmates pulling even though
we were told not to pull – yet. I remember the anxiety of quiet
competition and worry that it would be my fingers that slipped
when the desperate call to ‘raise your arms!’ went like a siren.
I remember squealing voices, yells at the fat slap of wind bellowing
between us as our collective lifting whipped the parachute up
and out like a bloated belly. I remember the surprising brute strength
of power between our small hands, and then, the rush of warm
wind blowing my hair back as we up-ed and down-ed our arms
and the parachute shwacked again and again.

I remember the finale: that final lift when we were instructed to
step in and under the giant rainbow parachute sky…

(remember the sudden shadows? remember the intense silence?
remember the awe of being under, and not alone?)