Between extreme polarities
Screaming right and wrong
A little of this or that
A soundless, graceful shift from here to there
Set to ancient music
By condemnation of discernment
The I in ignorance
Fearing to lose that which cannot be lost
Where have I put them?
Where could they be?
Someplace in the bottom of the bag between chunks of pitch, hair ties and pins
Tip toeing tired boreds
Of we said, he said, she said,
You will fall if you lose your spot
either way, spinning
Shed blood in the box
A too tight fit
Instructed to bind growth
And file them down paper thin
Barely covered by
On point She kills us softly
As we bourrée around the bar
The mall, the off shore accounts
and other realms for Hungry ghosts
The choregraphy is beautiful
La Paz de deaux, two, three…
To make life a waltz of peace ~xo
How did you take 15 years of dance class if you were poor? My grandmother worked extra jobs to pay for clothes and activities for her grandchildren. I also helped pay for my dance with baby sitting money. Sometimes I danced in ripped tights and a bathing suit. I was planning to start a trend.
Killing Us Softly? A brilliant documentary by Jean Kilbourne on media images and exploitation of women. And Killing Me Softly by Roberta Flack was the song played by my dance teacher during our first class on pointe. We literally bourreed until our feet bled. Here, it has all the meanings.
Lambs wool? Jesus and the stuff ballerinas use to cover their toes before putting on pointe shoes. Some faith and some wool are fake.
Hungry ghosts? Gabor Maté
Also I feel very excitëd about finding the hidden alphabet letters in my phône.