Mother, before she had me, could dance
I was stretching, and she took the opportunity
To share with me.
The stair railing was the bar
Her toes pointed, and I mimicked, barely
The record of harp music trickled on
We made arcs with our arms like rainbows
Each move with the most sincere intentions
Mother was tired; she was not young
She sat down, defeated
But I, unskilled and naive, continued
I added a twirl and a smile
Leapt away to the moonlight
I realized that my legs were not moving
Arms at my sides
My soul was dancing.
*Feel free to leave all of the constructive criticism you like!