Poetry & Prose

The Spectacle of Dance

She stood, then, taking the space she knew she was owed,

taller than she ever had been, eyes brighter at the thought of the moment.


“It was magical,” she said, but the magic was in the way her explanation highlighted her passion,

how the lines of her body loosened and she flowed in tandem with a pulse no one else was privy to,

how the curve of her arm and the point of her hand flourished

and it spoke for her.


“Beautiful,” she called it, but the beauty was her standing her ground,

her becoming herself,

a confidence that comes from belonging,

from finding the place where being is as easy as it has never been, it is comfortable-

from getting it right,

the insecurities she carried took a step back, stole the weight away from her shoulders,

and she embodied herself anew, envisioned herself anew,

breathing into what she loved, holding it close.


And as she described the energy, the soul of it all,

how much it meant,

the vibrancy of her every step, every gesture, left ringing patterns of color in the air,

the aftershocks of the storm she could be already evident in the beauty of the vacancies she chose to keep,

what she chose to leave behind saying as much as what she chose to perform-


a spectacle in and of herself,

something to behold,

forcing the audience to watch themselves in reaction to the light she cannot help but cast,

blindingly, blisteringly bold.



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