Today I will
write a poem
about a little girl jumping rope.
It will not be a metaphor
for dodging bullets.
It will not be an allegory
for skipping past despair.
But rather about the
back & forth bob of her head
as she waits for the right moment to insert herself
into the blinking flashes
of bound hemp.
But rather about her friends
on either end of the rope who turn their wrists into small
flashing windmills cultivating
an energy of their own.
But rather about the way
the beads in her hair bounce against the back of her neck.
But rather the way her feet
barely touch the ground,
how the rope skipping across
the concrete sounds
like the entire world is giving
her a round of applause.