Monkey bars: a poem

By Liz Badley

The first bar.

I steady my breath and wrap my small hand around the cold bar.

Tippy-toey.

I’m excited to try, and full of nerves.

The second bar.

I grab for it.

I release my feet and hang for a moment before I reach my feet back.

What if I fall? What if I slip? What if I can’t do it?

She sees me and reads my mind.

“I’m here to help you”

She takes my feet when they leave the platform and I feel her support.

The third bar.

I’m doing it! I smile and I reach for the fourth bar.

I miss.

“What if I fall?” I say aloud.

“You’ll land” she says, “and you’ll try again”

The fourth bar. The fifth.

I know she’s there, but my feet feel free.

I smile.

The sixth bar. I miss. 

She’s there. I’m safe. I try again

The sixth bar. The seventh bar.

I’m on the platform. 

I want to go again.

“You don’t need my help, but I’ll be right here”

The first bar, the second.

I miss the third bar and let go.

I land.

I try again.

One, two, three, four, five bars.

I hear my friends cheering my name.

Six, seven.

My feet are barely on the platform when I’m enveloped by hugs from my friends.

“You did it! You did it!” 

Again and again, I count to seven and I fly from bar to bar.

Full of pride, with blistered hands, she taught me: 

“If I fall, I’ll land, and try again”