by Siobhán Fuller
One foot in a satin slipper, then the other. Ribbons crossed over and over between swift fingers. The moon’s spotlight rests upon the woman who stands in front of the mirror. Under the stars’ gaze, she does not wince as she does in the glare of the sun’s rays. Her body is light and bright and delicate. She is a feather swirling in the faintest breeze. The weight of the day falls off her like a cloak and she stretches at the freedom from its confinement. Her toes point, her arms reach, and she performs for the night sky.
When she opens her eyes again, there will be too much of her. In the morning, she must not dance. The reflection reminds her that she is not the kind of girl who may dance. She sheds her skin at night, only to pull it back on the next day. The body she wears for the world requires that she stand in the wings.