Canon in D Shannon Borkowski
The frosted tulle My corset waist A scorching flame of light
Reflection shy She hides, abstains She’ll praise until destroyed
Their shadow masks— Are intimate Attending for their pride
Ancient toe shoes Rosy satin Disheveled masterpiece
The buds—they soak A salty rain Of mother’s ocean tide
A waltz across— The broken floor Like summer’s river stream
With loss of breath My beating drum I see the end in sight
The rush to change From first number My feet—bruised, bloody, numb
To feel as though— I’m infinite The curtains know my name
A string of swans The babies’ nest Turn out their first position
—and shut them closed To brush my cheek Degrade me through her eyes
Handwritten note My story says— “I’m off to see much more”
They make me weak I itch for strength My passion beats the odds
No more nit pick Empty stomach Deprived of selfish love
These ankles, weak Forgot to breathe My tights, stained with red wine Behind the tape I watch her . . . still My solo silhouette
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