Ankle Accolade

The lower extremities of David, the sculpture by Michelangelo.

Ankle Accolade

Tons of marble teeter on crumbling ankles.
After six hundred years of valiant balancing,
Michelangelo’s David wobbles
And reminds me,
I owe my creaking ankles homage.

They have given me decades of ecstatic jumping,
High skipping,
Dances from tap to hula,
Meandering hikes,
Deep swims,
Long runs,
Leaps off cliffs into heaving ocean.

Now, after seventy winters, simple walks
And occasional twisted yoga positions
Stretch the bony knobs askew.

I stand on one leg in Tree Pose,
Left leg straight, but wavering in the
Attempt to hold me upright.
On my left thigh, the right ankle rests, bent.
Tendons and ligaments bulge and bunch,
But I feel free.

The bottom of my foot,
Resembles small curved hills in a landscape painting
With five hillocks, perhaps haystacks gathered to one side.

I smile while trembling, one hundred twenty-five pounds
On one tiny juncture of bones,
Muscles swaying as if a brisk breeze
Tries to topple me.

I am the David,
Quivering on ankles
While winds of time test my resolve.

David
by Michelangelo

Ankle Accolade is a poem published in Kindred: 2018 Savant Poetry Anthology (reprinted with permission). It’s available on Amazon.


Cate Burns is the author of Libido Tsunami: Awash with the Droll in Life, in which she unearths the ludicrous in the emotional live traps surrounding us — in families, friends and disastrous romances. Get it on Amazon today.