Monday's
Poem
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Steel Ribbons "Call me dancer," you say; three year old spinning bright, as we watch you smile across June's festival floor, the satin-pink ribbons sun streaks through flaxen hair Round and round you go; tall at thirteen, fawn-legs lifting high, until a sudden shift of your spine curves down a cruel, lonely battle that wraps your body taut with steel-ribbons. "Call me dancer," you say, your mind eager to escape the bending pain, rough, restless nights, till you find freedom in the strong beats of a familiar studio floor After two binding-years a celebration, as you leave behind the restrictive bands, tedious trips to Montreal, ballerina wild-whirling, your lithe steps fine, musical notes. |