By: Hunter Christian
Dancer paid her tribute
A shyness too shy for pretense
Sensuously seductive in form
Still, her hands trembled about
Too expensive the penance for a girl’s doubt
Her mother paid dearly before her
Grandmother too
And, too many generations to be catalogued
The accountants for the many as for the few
Whom settled accounts willed onward
On parchment paper in the soul
Feather pens dried steadfast in the inkwell
They all toppled hardways down
To the stage to where they fell
Like the girls whom all toppled in their time
Whom grew into women
Whom grew into matriarchs
Whom died when the lottery called their number
From the man’s hand who rotated the basket’s tumbler
Dancer bowed and smiled
She loved and begrudged some too
Her hair grayed slowly as beauty dictated
That sorority of the few
She sighed when sighs were called for
She laughed to thaw cold boredom
She enriched the hope of the poor
O’ dearest Dancer in the tour
Call me your dancer
For today, for tomorrow - forevermore.