by Sharon Stellarini

Created on: July 23, 2009

Ballet Dancer

Across the bar she lifts

her leg, straight and stiff

as a frozen tree branch.

In the dance studio she spent

every night practicing

turns and twists watching

her misty reflection,

starting over if it was

anything short of

perfection.

When the show came that Saturday

her leg quivered

like fish

being carried by the river.

She tip-toed across the stage

as awkward as a dame

with bound feet.

And as she looked

into the crowd

into every face

in every seat,

the same icy mien

reflected a hundred times

sent a ray of heat

through her fragile nineteen-

year-old frame,

until she

suddenly fell

like rain.

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