ballerina in a music box

you are a dancer and so you find a way to dance

through everything:

the hallways, gym class, chorus

when we have to stand, white fields, your dance studio,

the rain, the snow, the world,

all the time instructing me on how to do it –

how to point my toes and smile and dance, you say,

now dance. and i, with my awkward poise

and stiff martial artist stance, laugh and step to the side:

show me how. and off you go,

in pointe shoes and a white tulle skirt 

or at least that’s how i imagine you, a snowflake ballerina

like the ones twirling outside the window

the very first time it snowed.