This one’s not a sure thing.
I’m not bound to win.
I don’t think I’ll ace it this time.
I won’t break a leg,
make my own luck,
or reach the stars.
The sun is not shining on me today.
The force is not strong.
Before the day is out,
I’ll taste the grit of dust.
Maybe I didn’t do all I could.
Or maybe I did
but there were others who did more.
Maybe I’ll never know.
But here I go—
bones clicking quietly together,
blood flowing dutifully
from heart to hands and back again—
here I go, stepping out
through the door
of my own shadow:
into the glare of the arena
to face the lions.