The peewee football was just out of reach
taunting me
to leap high,
higher still
up into the
sky.
The soft
grass was my springboard
propelling me
to soar further
than any five-year-old
could rightfully soar.
Airborne, my
left hand clawed at the muggy air
until I felt fingertips
graze the ball.
Instinctually,
I grabbed enough of it
to tuck it
down
solid
into my chest.
It was a
beautiful moment.
It defined me.
I didn’t know
the word at the time.
I was a
tomboy.