In the jewel box ballroom The sunlight through the Tudor leaded glass Casts diamonds on the maple floor Maria and I are stuck in the back Me because of my terrible feet Inflexible arches Everyone knows why Maria is last row Although she used to scribe an elegant line Now we don’t talk to her Following the front of class girls We puppet our tendus and pas de bourrées In sleeveless black leotards and pink tights The uniform for all The ballet master says he must See each swell and curve of our limbs In the bare bulb lit dressing room Maria sits with legs splayed Her red and pearl striped belly distends over ropy thighs She catches me staring through the silvered reflection My OB says to stop classes I thought love would conquer all But poverty conquers everything Then she weeps Both of us still girls Sixteen Later, I hear she names him Boon When she visits the studio Her slender feet in hiking boots Unbuttoned jeans over still swollen stomach Black hoodie over engorged breasts Boon is tied to her body with a long yellow cloth As she unfurls him We slide our eyes away from our mirror selves Surprised to see him in the world She carries him to the center of the dappled floor Raises him overhead Circles, a slow pirouette, so we can all see We waltz to mother and child Flutter and aw Circle. Arms fifth position as if choreographed Until the master claps three times We line back up The pianist plays the intro Seven, eight. Each alone We try to keep our eyes front While with the yellow yardage Maria binds Boon to her body The angled shadows pattern his golden swaddle As she walks toward the oak door
The Pine Cone Review 