Grasping onto a rusty silver bar
With delicate, skinny fingers
Gently curling over, forming an arch,
To provide some support
In addition to five little toes
Adorned in a pink slipper
Balanced on the new hardwood floor

Forming another arch
As their hips thrust forward,
Under the silver bar
Their heads dip back in unison
And strained smiles
Are presented
Under the command
Of a strict Russian instructor

Their legs form perfect angles derived from
Years of rehearsals just like this
Tight black leotards conform to
Any curves that might exist
Though they only place a barrier
Between dancers and perfection

“My silhouette has to be envied” she thought.
“As my arms arch over my head,
As I lift my foot and twirl
They will applaud and wish
They could do as I can.”

Examining her form in the mirror
Comparing herself to the rest
Critiquing her form as well as her body

“I am meant to fly on stage,” she thought,
“with nothing holding me down.”