“Way to go, Grace,”
my cousin would often say
as I teetered crossing a creek
on a log, landing knee deep in icy water.
Or slipping through the limbs of a pine,
looking like I had done battle with a cat.
Or stepping on her toes or stumbling on stones
as we danced the polka waiting for the school bus.
Coordination wasn’t the mark of my childhood,
but I sure had fun.