A Poem About Learning to Do Handstands

Hands planted, fingers grip,
breath comes fully, yet shaking.
Upside down, yet upright I stand —
pushing, bracing, breathing, straining —
landing softly, regrouping, then going back up.
Working to use the wall
a little
bit
less
each go,
freeing and floating
a little
bit
more
a little
more
often.
Standing strongly
(only briefly unsupported)
how a man was not built to stand:
on my hands.