I am not a ballerina in an ivory tutu.
I am not a spinster left to hobble.
I am not the girl behind the make-up counter
who dreams herself a ballerina in a dimestore novel.
I would like to be the knight in shining armor.
I would like to be the one who gets the girl
behind the counter. I would like to be the dance
inside the ballerina’s head.
I will be the bobbled dance upon the counter.
I will be the night, the moon will be my harbor
(discarded cloud of tulle and smeared mascara)
I will be like rain on her Sahara, I will be
the dimestore novel, dog-eared on the nightstand,
a simple counterpoint to everything they said.