Juggling

I have not been trained in this profession.

And yet I do it.

Everyday.

One ball.  Two balls.

I feel successful.

Encouraged.

Three balls.  Four.

Harder.

But doable.

Five.  Six.  Seven.

They become bigger.

Heavier.

I work to keep them in motion.

Much of the time I can

although it's lacking the fluency

and ease that would make it an art.

Some have a natural talent for it.

I do not.

Eight.  Nine.  Ten.

One drops to the ground

and lays at my feet.

Waiting for me.

To save it.

I lose another.

And another.

Some roll out of sight.

But I know they are there.

Eleven.  Twelve.

The weight threatens to crush me

as I lay in bed at night.

But my arms are stronger in the morning.

They have newfound strength.

Thirteen.  Fourteen.  Fifteen.

There are rare moments when 

I keep them all suspended.

It is beautiful.

Invigorating.

Sixteen.  Seventeen.

I can do this.

Eighteen.  Nineteen.  Twenty.

I can do this.

Twenty one.  Twenty two.  Twenty three, twenty four . . .