The Olympian

A poem

From Texas Monthly

For Simone Biles

She salutes at the vault,
legs flickering
as she prepares to sprint the length of the mat, 
punch the spring board, and plant both wrists 
on the bench — puff of chalk —
then sudden flight, arms crossed 
as in death, yet shooting open again 
on the other side, where she looks back 
and laughs and waves and even cries, 
as if to hearten us all, who will one day take our place 
at the runway mark, gathering ourselves 
for that final hour.