A Matter of Poise

My left arm was locked mid-air in an overly eager wave. With a subtle push of will, my wrist clicked and flexed on its own—take that, stiff plastic. I brought my hand down with deliberate grace, pressing my fingers flat against the solid wooden rail. Feeling the cool, smooth grain beneath my palm gave me the anchor I needed. I shifted my hips, found my center of gravity, and stood balanced on both feet. Whoever picked my previous pose clearly lacked imagination, but I always get the final say.