In elementary school gym class, twenty-five
Seven year olds would circle a parachute,
Pull it taut, flick their wrists and puff it up
Like a bedsheet, and would rush underneath
And sit on the edge to trap the air, to keep
The parachute aloft. We’d stoop inside the dome,
A new space we’d invented, and watch the walls
Sag around us, and laugh, and laugh, and laugh.