by diy danna
Police conversation, “Where have you been?!”
echos on the wall, tilting pictures of boy and girl ballet dancers.
Art collecting questions seemed endless,
stretching tights into body stockings into twisted nylon ropes.
The late dancer-competing with the frame-cradles her tummy.
She put on a smiling face for the crowd,
stumbling only once during her latest performance:
Not minding the curb and a kid on a bike,
she stubs her big toe on the block in her right shoe.
Ignoring the discomfort, she makes it to the clinic on time.