Choreography

When I was a little girl, I took dance classes,
Because I was going to be a star,
A triple threat,
I was going to dazzle.

So I twirled through that room full of mirrors, my mistakes on a thousand surfaces.
A muscular woman in a leotard, telling me to turn faster, keep my head up, make it sharper.
I was always a few steps behind
I was lifting the left leg when they were on the right,
Stepping forward when all the other girls were on their way back.
My limbs got tangled, and I would fall, over and over again.

I was clumsy and messy,
My hair never stayed in a proper ballet bun, high and tight.
My costumes pinched, all that suffocating sparkle.
When a girl in my class complained,
An older dancer said to her
They aren't supposed to be comfortable. They are supposed to be beautiful.
And isn't that what we were supposed to be? Beautiful, if not comfortable?

I felt like I was neither.
I was just a kid with a terrified grin, trying to remember the steps.

Now I dance in yoga pants and a tank top
My hair in a simple pony tail.

I make my own choreography,
And sometimes,
I fall,
because there is a marvelousness in the unexpected

I don't plan ahead.
I make music with my body
hands pounding, feet thumping.
I don't think out the next step,
don;t make it all fit in eight counts,  or even sixteen.

Now when I turn I make sure it isn't sharp,
because the world is full of watercolor streak softness

I dance a little differently now
But I still dance.
I dance comfortably
And beautifully too.
I unfurl like a flag,
Unfold like a crisp letter.
And I bloom.