The approach to the bar
is everything
unless I have counted
my steps __hit my markers
feel up to it __I refuse
to follow through
I am committed to beginnings
or to nothing
planting the pole
at runway’s end
jolts me
out of sprinting
I take off __kicking in
and up __my whole weight
trying the frailty
of fiberglass
never forcing myself
trusting it is right
to be taken to the end
of tension __poised for
the powerful thrust to
fly me beyond expectation
near the peak
I roll my thighs inward
arch my back __clearing
as much of the bar as I can
(knowing the best jump
can be canceled
by a careless elbow)
and open my hands