Crown

At age 12  there was a park hill going down   To join my
family gathered around a rugged table with refreshment

I began 

to descend 

   slowly at first               proud to master

space    

But gravity and determination
were not well-matched and propelled me

speed began its pace    to betray me

And once I reached the level bottom  where grass and concrete met    I had fallen

bruised I

hoped no one had seen 

the disaster of
such eagerness

Scuffed    there was no brushing off
Standing revealed stiffness of one such 

solo
hands  my tentative but able brakes and then

other’s hands to lift me up

Laughter offsetting ego’s red

Oh that I had learned to drop

my self indignation then but it would be

50 years before I stepped off again    hard    from

this tilt-a-whirl world and let another care

for the shattered rim and bone of me
crown dissected           injected internally with surgical precision   

slivers   to pin me back together       skeleton of self-forgiveness

awkward in flight  
No practiced tango      this