Ballerina Poem by Ballerina With Fins

First there was nothing.
then there were lights.

Blinding stagelights leftwing
rightwing sprout wings wink, for
the camera it's smiling for you, smile
lights camera action. cut. Cut.

First, she is a ghost, drifting aimlessly
in the background, with quiet eyes
and expression, watching the audience
with eyes that look but never quite See.

Then, she is a butterfly, emerging
slowly from the cocoon that the
audience has created for her, sprouting
Baby wings that flutterby flickeringly.

Today, she will be a little girl, out
of step, and tuned in completely to a
world of bliss bubbles all in the perfect circle
of her swirling tutu, undisturbed.

Tonight, she is hiding enigma in her hair,
sly smile a prelude to the fading
of magic wings; sidestepping slowly
towards Upward Elegance.

Last scene of all, she is a mere dancer,
no longer entwined in spotlight nor
starlight, her last few weary steps
being saved for something bigger and more
terrifying, that will slip by, ever
so suddenly, so quietly,
that the audience would
never quite
notice.