the girl with the cream-coloured ribbon
around her waist
sighed and tilted her head back
to stare at the matching cream ceiling.
from her vantage point atop the piano,
she could see the other hopefuls.
they crowded a semi-circle
around the late, great master.
it was he who would decide
their fate.
across the room,
a girl with a bleach blue ribbon
spun pirouettes,
her toes pointed out straight
as she landed.
the floorboards trembled
from leaps and spins and turns.
next to her, a knit group of girls aged six
whispered and stretched and giggled,
comparing their matching white ribbons
and the depth of their demi-plié.
the echo of their laughter
ghosted across the room
and barely touched the shell of
the girl with the cream-coloured ribbon’s ear.
she sighed again
and lifted her hand to play with
the docile curls trailing down her back.
to her right,
the girl with a flower in her hair
and a dark-hued ribbon on her waist.
this girl stood with confidence
in a loose second position
while all the others fret,
their movements a light hum filling the room.
this girl waited patiently for her name
and, when the time came,
floated gracefully around the room,
her feet just barely skimming the ground.
her final posture is toes pointed down,
hands in a smooth arc over her head.
the light clapping that fills the room
is suddenly the tumulus applause
of an audience after the show.
the girl with a dark-hued ribbon
is the star of the stage,
her twin in a stormy sash
silhouetted behind a smoke screen,
foot dragging into the final pose.
she knew that the girl with a dark-hued ribbon
would be one of the few chosen.
the girl with the cream-coloured ribbon
looked out over the potential
from her perch upon the grand piano.
who among them would join
the girl with a dark-hued ribbon
upon the stage?
Marie Aria
and she was sliding down
and twirling off
and fanning out her skirt at the aged sixes
and trying so hard
to impress the master
that she missed
the envious tinge of
the girl with a dark-hued ribbon.
around her waist
sighed and tilted her head back
to stare at the matching cream ceiling.
from her vantage point atop the piano,
she could see the other hopefuls.
they crowded a semi-circle
around the late, great master.
it was he who would decide
their fate.
across the room,
a girl with a bleach blue ribbon
spun pirouettes,
her toes pointed out straight
as she landed.
the floorboards trembled
from leaps and spins and turns.
next to her, a knit group of girls aged six
whispered and stretched and giggled,
comparing their matching white ribbons
and the depth of their demi-plié.
the echo of their laughter
ghosted across the room
and barely touched the shell of
the girl with the cream-coloured ribbon’s ear.
she sighed again
and lifted her hand to play with
the docile curls trailing down her back.
to her right,
the girl with a flower in her hair
and a dark-hued ribbon on her waist.
this girl stood with confidence
in a loose second position
while all the others fret,
their movements a light hum filling the room.
this girl waited patiently for her name
and, when the time came,
floated gracefully around the room,
her feet just barely skimming the ground.
her final posture is toes pointed down,
hands in a smooth arc over her head.
the light clapping that fills the room
is suddenly the tumulus applause
of an audience after the show.
the girl with a dark-hued ribbon
is the star of the stage,
her twin in a stormy sash
silhouetted behind a smoke screen,
foot dragging into the final pose.
she knew that the girl with a dark-hued ribbon
would be one of the few chosen.
the girl with the cream-coloured ribbon
looked out over the potential
from her perch upon the grand piano.
who among them would join
the girl with a dark-hued ribbon
upon the stage?
Marie Aria
and she was sliding down
and twirling off
and fanning out her skirt at the aged sixes
and trying so hard
to impress the master
that she missed
the envious tinge of
the girl with a dark-hued ribbon.
