The JeteJuly 1999 - Copyright
I skim across the floor at breakneck speed -
Like a spider that runs on water
and never tears through the surface.
I feel the wind on my face and
hear it rushing past my ears
As the floor falls away beneath my feet.
Gravity has given up its fight, at last,
And released me to the sky.
The AuditionAugust 1998 - Copyright
I enter the gruesome gates of Ballet Hell
In ten minutes I will stand before a glacial director,
In a line of nameless, faceless bodies,
Praying that God pulls me out of that line -
and gives me a name and a face.
I am waiting to begin the audition,
Waiting to learn my destiny.
One-by-one, fifty dancers will pour out their hearts
through their hands, their feet, and their eyes.
One-by-one, fifty dancers will have their love and future
And, yes, we pay them for this.
A smirking lady hands me my number:
the tangible epitome of the audition
It still retains its dizzying smell of magic marker.
I have been stripped of my identity -
Dehumanized by the graffiti pinned to my leotard;
For the next two hours my name will be:
Hair is deliberately coifed in a skull-gripping bun
Each girl inventories the bobby pins
that imprison her hair.
We fidget at the barre, in numerical order -
Each dancer starts to warm up by holding her leg in some
distorted position over her head.
Leg warmers and sweat pants shroud these
strangely beautiful, serpentine legs
The room writhes with apprehension…
The audition director enters - a self-exalted demi-god…
He walks agonizingly slowly…
Taking inventory of every body he passes…
He grins a sinister, weaselly smile…
Then seats himself at the front of the room.
…Let the festivities begin.
InvadedAugust 1998 - Copyright
She is invaded by fiery music
That turns her eyes and twists the corners of her mouth.
Against her own volition, she is willed to move
By a maddening, delicious force.
Her feet propel her through the air
Her head slings back to face the sky…
Her hands clap in counter-rhythms that her brain can’t comprehend…
Her belly undulates above her hips - that shake in figure eights.
And she has no idea where her arms will pull her next.
Sweat falls from her forehead; her hair clings magnetically to her skin;
She is dizzy and her head aches as tough she’d fasted forty days.
But still her heels stomp into the ground and her fingertips fly into the air…
She has surrendered all control to this auditory poison.
And she is drunk on the spinning of her skirts.
I Dance and I See Myself DancingApril 1998 - Copyright
I dance and I see myself dancing…
I love the movement, the Euphoria.
I fly and my heart laughs;
I flirt and I weep and I whisper with my feet…
My hands dart past my eyes -
like a fish whose sun has caught its orange tail.
The whirling and the swirling of the colours and the lights,
as the ceiling draws me near…
I am subtle; I am vulgar, as I twist before the king,
And he asks me if I’d care to minuet.
“No, thank you, my dear sir,” I reply with all defiance,
As I skitter through the courts and I prance among the knights…
I am flying; I am swimming; I am speaking foreign tongues,
And I pause before I circle back again…
My elbows do not listen, but my feet drum for my ears.
I see and I smirk and I giggle with my hands…
My shoulders pull me backward -
like a current in the sea.
The tapestries rush past me
in a blur of smoky thread,
as my lungs open wide
and my throat lets out applause…
I am violent; I am smart, as I watch myself cavort,
And I never, ever, ever minuet.
Please take me to:
Kristy's Poetry Writing Home
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