Digitigrade IIThe human foot contains twenty-six bonesfor running and dancing and spinningpirouettes in neat circles,starvedfor grace.Gracebalanced on one foot before two,starved for attention with every brokenbone."Ballet is more than dancing,Grace," the en pointe trainer balancedon one foot and named every bonesupporting her weight.Grace spins oneperfectcircle on the hardwood floor:her eyes land on the barre mirror.She doesn't see the atrophied boneribs through pink gauze,but only imagines herself as beautiful.Weeks of anorexic binging display the remainsof weak structure.One more skin-and-bonecygnet remained an ugly ducklingas the starved light of dawn danced across the skyon bleach bone toes.The empty theater seats fill upwhile en pointe sylphscount their ribs backstageat the memorial performancewhere grace fluttered,and faltered,and starved.
BeforeYou don't talk to meanymore.Why?I thought that you said,No matter what happens,we'll always be friends.You're going to let thisstand in the way of our friendship?What the hell?It looks like I misjudged you.But I can't saythat you don't have an excusefor your actions.You said that you loved me.I said that I could not return your feelings.Wouldn't it have beenmore hurtful if I liedand told you I loved you back?Yetmaybethere was some wayto soften the blow.And I was too much of an idiotto know how.Do you blame me?I'm sorry, I really am.But you were the first personwho ever told me that.I just didn't know how to react.I'm so sorry.You must be hurtingso much right now.And me, near youthat would probably bring you more pain.So I'll just stay awayand hope that one day,we can smile at each otherlike we did before.Before
Hey Now, LoveI see the moonlight dancing through her hair,Her complexion haunting in the night, so fair.Hey, you've been gone for so long,And I miss being with you.Hey, is there something wrong?Lately I've been so blue.I see her smiling while she sleeps; the same thoughts we share.Her breath on my chest is so gentle, and there's love in the air.Hey, I miss staying up late,And holding you through the night.Hey, I'll fall apart at this rate,Sleeping alone again, tonight.I feel her heart beat with mine, and it's a feeling so rare.My fingers entwined with hers, oh this is love now, I'm aware.Hey now, you're still not here.I miss you, love, where have you gone?Hey now, I'm going mad without you dear.Now I'm alone again, at dawn.
Do You Remember When...There are images, moving pictures that repeat like the dvd menu left alone to play on a loop by two people who far from forgot, but just chose to let it go on and on and on. And they play in snippets captured by unforgettable details imprinted permanently in the space God left for her to etch these memories, the space he can get her to open whenever he ask "Do you remember when..." And of course she does. And so does he. But the story isn't the same unless its coming from the pages she harbors in her, stories weaved expertly and instinctively by her tongue, every little thing that could be forgotten recorded eternally remembered. "Do you remember when..." "Yes. Do you?" "Well... me and my memory... would you mind refreshing it?" He remembers it all. He just wants to hear it from her and be, as always, brought back to that spot time saved so clearly as if he where there again, as only she can illustrate. How can she say no to those eyes. Yes. I remember when.....
EnoughI'm holding on to secrets so tightly my hands start to burn.Winter has come full-force, wind sending the windows quivering against their panes and snow blanketing the Earth in an ivory sheen. We're all bundled up inside, pressed together for warmth to maybe give a bit of it to the not-still-living locked up in a metallic casket no bigger than a shoe box. The mix of flowers yellow roses, her favorite and the musty smell of the funeral home permeates everything, makes my nose crinkle up and eyes sting, spilling over with tears.The sea of nameless, faceless acquaintances part as I walk forward, cold hands on my back and muted, guilty I'm sorrys assaulting my ears, prolonging my mission. I meet the table, watch my Aunt sniffle and move on her way, pausing to wipe her tears on my shoulder and hug me tight.I take my turn, all eyes on me. They know,they know.Her face stares back at me, a dozen pressed beneath glass, her hair in a bob the color of driftwood a
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