Solo

POETRY NEWS #4332
Date: 06/21/2013 at 12:46
From: Figurante Tillie
To : Everyone
Subj: Solo

Madame showed me how to seek out my passions, take their very essence
And convert them into ripe, succulent
Fruits of artistic love,
Of energy and vitality.
Now I nourish the dancer within, not simply the dancer without
And all thanks are due to her inspiration and expertise.
Practice took time, and in that time, my body
Befell the plight that all succumb to when the body is their choice weapon:
Broken bones and ripened bruises.
It was in my days of rest I found time for something I surely did not want:
We were young
Love? I scoffed at such a thing
Except you coerced me into it, your feminine wiles
I joke, as is always my foolish
defense mechanism
As rote and swift as a chasse across the stage.
But I took your hand, swept you across the floor
There was no sea of eyes upon us and yet
I was terrified,
Aye, terrified, of just your gaze
Me, who allowed you to believe,
There was nothing I feared more than the losing,
But the rush was too much; an extension I could not continue
For the fear was aptly feigned.
Losing is something I've learned to master.
Bones have not broken me
Bruises have not softened me
All my skin is thickened, like the heels of my feet
As long as a limb is attached to this brittle frame
My body will move, spin, jump, fight--
My soul will dance
And although you are no longer my partner
Our hands, no longer laced in an everlasting waltz
Absolutely no one, nothing,
No love, perhaps
Will get in the way of my bare feet hitting that wooden floor

Penned by my hand on the 12th of Lupar, in the year 628 AF.