French Fries, Fear, and Lane 28
My daughter doesn’t want to bowl.
She’s 5 and wears that age well.
She’s terrified of the marbled pink
bowling ball that that her big sister
holds in front of her.
Like an invitation to a Hollywood soiree,
she waltzes around her, swinging it in the air,
showing her the beauty and ease of it all.
Trying to make her see
that all things heavy or unbearable
don’t always have a bad reputation
like dinosaurs, thunderstorms, crashing waves,
and broken hearts.
Finally, when they say, “Last call
for French fries and Coca-Cola
and lane number 28,”
she grips that ball with two hands
and approaches the edge of the lane.
I hold my breath,
as she lets go.