Dancing on Carpet

It's easy to smile in the beginning. Step, step, turn. Leap. Grace and power flow. Arms reach out and float in the air. Your fingers turn red as blood rushes through your veins. Up onto toes. Drawing air, your chest expands and nostrils flare. Everyone in the room can hear labored breathing, but your smile never falters.

Little girls in make believe tutus, young mothers, tweens, and silver haired ladies all watch you move across the floor. Keep your face soft, soft. Make them blind to holes in your shoes and tattered ribbons. Move smoothly against the resistance. It looks easy even as beads of moisture trickle along your hairline, wetting the sprigs of hair that have escaped. Finish.

They clap, ignoring the sweat running down your neck. The sparkle of sequins distracts attention from the frayed seams. You smile and smile, sinking gracefully into a bow.

The slippers are removed. You stretch and stretch. Rub your calves, ankles, feet. Sometimes you cry, but it's ok because no one can see you now. You pray for smoother floors tomorrow. Point and flex, point and flex. Stretch some more, because tomorrow you may have to dance on carpet again.