Poem 1/8/2017

In the blush and black crowd
Elastic tight from her toes to her shoulders,
"I'm no different than them"

Constant pain
for a chance of perfection,
a praise from a soggy-knee-ed once Company member,
to be considered as worthy at age 11

Gripping the bar in pin-drop silence
Chins and fingers angled to a point
All buns and cheeks clenching
Glaring at one another like hunters

tight from her toes to her breath
Shrill "7, 8!"
We plie
for approval