She tosses her head ever so slightly

Her pointed chin, the childlike curve of her cheek

And those long sculpted legs

Spinning beneath her

Graceful as a wind blown seedlet

Spinning, spinning

And it seems to us that its all beauty

Perfection in our untrained eye

The shiny skirt flares around her thighs

Taught muscles strain

And the pain begins

A calculated act that tossed head

That chin and cheek like porcelain

Painted by many a brush stroke

Abolishing the natural skin beneath

Those long legs are stiff and burning

The muscles revolt with every flex

The bent knees scream

While perfectly stationed arms long to be let down

That grace is but a fleeting vision

Attempted but failed many a time

So now she is a burdened thing

A painted butterfly fighting the wind

Blowing here and there

Fluttering helplessly

As its progress is deftly hindered

But there is beauty in that facsimile too

Too truthful she stumbles there

Bathed in murky yellow light

Her feet bare and scared by many an intrusion

Of broken things or rough surface

That nary a dancer would dare trod on

Yet she fleet of foot

And quick of wit

Dancer here

Twirling imperceptibly on shattered glass

Bleeding blood from flexing feet

While legs stretch and bend

And arms extend hugging the dark night sky

As sirens wail in the distance

And many a cat call is whistled her way

As those shinny skirts fly up

Pleated though and dark navy

The colors of any neighborhood school

Where this untrained one attends

Mind half open

Body half grown

Feet untrained

But steps well-known

Pick its way through grotto and ghetto and hood

Bypassing many strangers where they stood

Eyes down in the dirt searching for gold

As she whirls by with riches untold