I. Tendu

You tell yourself it’s embarrassing
to start learning ballet at thirty.
You’re ashamed of how you draw in
your stomach, comb over your bald patch,
pop the acne that never left your face.
You feel stuck in adolescence.

You once heard that dance is
the most unforgiving art form
because you feel your instrument
degrade from the inside out.
You’ve felt degraded by your body
for decades. You wonder if that’s
what made you want to try.

II. Relevé

I try to remember the shape
of an arabesque, but I have
no choice but to copy
the sixteen-year-old in front.
As I stretch out my left leg,
a dull ache blooms
in my lower back.

I remember on the x-ray,
the doctor showed me
how careless sitting
obliterated the cartilage
between my vertebrae.

As she droned on, I stared
at the radiograph, drew in
a large breath, and willed
myself to expand as if
to reach the flickering
fluorescent ceiling light
with the crown of my head.

III. Dégagé

A man scratches his thinning hair
and gazes at his reflection
in the streaked linoleum tiles.
He pauses in the cereal aisle and yearns
to be graceful. He plucks
a box of off-brand Cheerios
from the highest shelf.
He drops it into his cart, winces
while straightening his back.

He plods past the Frosted Flakes
but takes his next step with unexpected
elegance, the ball of his foot
brushing the floor
like a crane alighting softly
on the clear, still surface of a lake.