Dance; Quiet Like a Blossoming Flower
When I walk into the studio,
Any color, any size,
The dust of purple and green spreads to fill my eyes.
The ballet bar, built as my seed and start.
My ballet flats, my heels, my janky jazz shoes,
They are my roots embedded in the smooth soil.
Digging so slowly reaching farther down with time.
As I stretch, I grow,
My stiff stem.
When I dance, I am tall.
Expand to reach new heights, my now soft stem.
The rain, the snow,
And heavy thoughts stop. They stop falling on me.
They stop crushing my leaves.
It is quiet.
After my kicks, my feet hit heavy on the ground,
Like a rock crushing a new bud.
My sweet pollen center is my plie, my landing,
Soft in second position.
I leap again, my petals spreading, finding new resting.
A new movement next class.