it’s almost like she’s dancing–
a final performance, an encore,
a bow at the end of a long day
a curtain closed over pointed toes
and years of stretches and early mornings.
it’s almost like she’s dancing–
a twist, a dip, head up and eyes closed,
swaying to music nobody gets to hear,
graceful at last,
the creaking floorboards her stage.
it’s almost like she’s dancing–
but she’s not.
Bad Day Poetry 