The Wardrobe’s Best Dressed: Prime Meridian by Connie Post

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Hula Hoop Turns 50

               -Associated Press June 19, 2008

In 1967, there were few things
I wanted more than my own
cylindrical, smooth, plastic
neon pink hoop

like a story,
I climbed inside the sphere
again and again
when my waist was still straight and bony

countless times, I dropped it to the back patio
the scratches around the rim, always appeared
after the first few days of summer

I never understood the “shoop shoop” noise
what places of the earth were inside it,
but it must have been deepest black –
I believed it had something to do
with the reason my father walked towards me
so often
watching intently, the motion of my hips
teaching my body to understand
the irrevocable forces of gravity

each week, I learned better
how to navigate my own talents –
I already knew I was a sinner
as mother told me at night
for not saying my prayers

but I knew (better than she) what was more important –
I practiced all the time
I was bonded to the idea of retrieval
how the hoop would drop below my knees
spiral downward
how desperately
I needed to predict descent

the summers passed
the patio covering crumbled in unpredictable patterns
eventually, I started practicing in the side yard,
but he found me anyway

I forgot how to pray
but each day, I would rehearse –
understanding better each time
the undulations of a broken dance

the sound of the death rattle

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