Double Toss

Cool metal, smooth and heavy in your palm.
Flowing, rippling silk, glowing
Under the cold glow of the stadium lights.
Endless possibilities.
Or, just one if you do it right.
Slender right hand fingers wrap around the outside of the silk,
Six inches from the tab.
Left hand clasps around the pole,
Slicing it exactly in half.
Eyes flutter shut for a second, visualizing.
Deep breath, oxygen in,
Right hand pushing out,
Left hand scooping in.
Forming a cone,
It’s the prequel of an extravagant story.
And then a split second, blink an eye and you’ll miss it.
Muscles blaze with every spark of fire, giving everything.
Right arm swings up, spins the flag up into the endless blue.
Left arm propels the pole down.
Nothing but perfect harmony.
Six feet of pole, forty eight inches of silk,
Dusting the floor of God’s home.
It rotates once. Twice.
Double Toss.
Your eyes never leave the flag.
Outstretched hands, you watch anxiously knowing it’s spinning
Closer, closer, closer…
The familiar tingle in your palms.
The signal that now it’s okay to relish in the wonder.
Six feet of pole, forty eight inches of silk.
A diamond.
Precision cut.