My Own Jazz Age

Colored shapes sprawled on the icy floor
They are the law that we nine obey
I align myself between their fixed places
And hold my breath
And close my eyes
And smile
Counts flow through the silent air
A few shouts from the crowd, but I'm not listening
Feet, hands, shoulders back
Blues and blacks and reds across our pale faces
Seduce the crowd, they say
Make them shout your name!
I'm spinning through the colors on the floor
And holding my breath
And closing my eyes
And smiling
The music is so, so sweet.

I could live in this paradise
This tumultuous, ever-moving, oddly blissful
Wonderland of a place and time
Minutes only, but hours still
The moves are in a foreign tongue
French name, familiar step
Don't need to know the meaning to understand
I'm twisting, curling, flying through the air
Not weightless, but smaller when contrasted
Air and space are nothing.

I am what they said I'd never be
Floating in the ocean they swore would drag me down
And I'm not afraid
To hold my breath
And close my eyes
And smile
Confident
The practice has made me stronger, faster
Lighter, happier
I find my final colors on the floor
And stand between their enduring spots
Knowing they'll be there tomorrow night
When we all return to finish
What we started. We pose, and
The stage light vanishes.