Splits

The following is part of our O Sport! Olympic poetry series in partnership with Poets and the News.     

Our house was red brick and surrounded
by summer.
My sister and I sat on the step and imagined ourselves graceful like Olga Korbut.
We watched her on t.v.—
the child who wiped tears from her eyes
after an uneven routine
before defeating adults
on the balance beam.

My sister and I stopped being astronauts.
Astronauts couldn’t do the splits.
We practiced daily.

And then, one day,
our mother stopped letting us watch.
You’re too young, she said,
and banished us into summer
away from the Olympics.

I guess she didn’t know Olga, didn’t know that a girl still in school
could be more important than anything else.