Poem: November 25, 2019

Mastery

I watch her in dance class,
the way she listens, nods,

then raises her arms, kicks
her leg and spins too far

and tries again until she is
able to stop precisely where

she began. And I like to see
her this way, through the lens

of this glass wall, reflected
in the studio mirrors, learning.

She is making mistakes, but
she isn't broken by them.

She laughs and shakes her
arms out, pulls her hair back,

and spins again, stops, and
pops her hands up above her

head and cocks her wrist
in time with the music, happy

in the practice of mastering
movement, her body, self.