Stark – The Poetry Journal – No 1 / 2016
Pirouettes
She perked me up when she did her perfect pirouettes to the Blue Danube waltz. She wore a sky
blue tutu made from stiff nylon netting and bright pink pointe shoes tied with ribbons around her
ankles. She held her arms in fifth position, one in front at breast level, the other gracefully curved
above her head. Balanced on one leg, she turned on a shiny gold metal stage. Intermittently, her
free leg went straight out to the side and came back in, foot placed exactly at the side of her other
knee. She lived and danced inside a glass case on top of a dresser at 7018 North 3rd Avenue. She
was with me for three years. In the dark I’d watch her spin by the glimmer of a dim nightlight,
listening to the sound of the waltz. I fell asleep practicing ballet positions in my head as she
made tiny shadows across my pink and green flowered bedspread. Later, I forgot about her
When I remembered to wind her up with the little gold key on the side of her glass case, she
always performed like a prima ballerina. The tighter I twisted, the faster she danced.When the
time came to move away, I packed her in a box with layers of white tissue paper. I told her the
new place would be better. She’d have different music, learn new routines and maybe find a
partner. “When you’re in the truck,” I said, “just pretend you’re dancing.” The journey was noisy
and treacherous. She banged around in a box while I rode on an airplane. She made it all the way
across the country, but had to wait in a warehouse before the men delivered her to her new home.
Hurricane Betsy hit town and flooded the building. Trying to swim her way out, she listened for
the song line of the Blue Danube to carry her to safety. She drowned in oily water as pots and
pans, baby clothes, and photos of other families floated by.