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
Copyright ©
Gershon Wolf
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