Figure Eights and Emily

A slip of a girl, button-cute, pigtails flying her first figure-eights traced on roller blades Effortlessly following the crude colored chalk lines Emily aced the whole field her very first time Number eight was magic, no matter where it appeared In hop-scotch, in jump rope, or even in school She traced it flee-flowing, vibrant with joy Little Emily, the envy of even the boys... She began to understand where all this might take her to nationals, world capitals, and always the Olympics in the back of her mind every four years, thinking that the gold would be hers, no nervousness, no fears At sweet sixteen she ruled the world, a pencil-thin body with soft hair and curls, racking up 10's on those figure eights Emily was a kewpie-doll sensation on skates Sure that top honors awaited, she circled the dates Now, of course, you are waiting for Emily to fail, to fall, to prove that she's human But forgive me, dear reader, you see there's a wee bit of Emily, in every leaf of my family tree