Belly-down, torso twisting,
spiraling sculptural lines—
pantomime, plastic movement, stage deportment.
Her ongoing love of the peripheries
pushes her to consider a new center
of gravity, other points of reference
beyond the technical training
to support one’s earthbound weight.
The threads and little ravelings of inspiration,
innovation, convince her that she can
remain in touch with her roots
without staying static, stuck.
So, she’ll remove her toe shoes,
swipe tights-covered feet across the wooden floor,
and stare in fascination
as tiny blue stars fly in brief arcs
from the static caused by her electrical charge.
Fit for teeth (but not a mouth),
A skeleton (not of bone, but of metal), or perhaps
An unbent bobby pin in a pinch.
Lock us in.
Lock others out.
Secure safety, property. (Try to) guard secrets, privacy.
Whether a thin line, like the slit between lips
That narrow in pinched and pleated disapproval,
Or a hole that’s just-right-sized
For a too-curious, spying gaze inside,
If you can find what you need to fill the emptiness,
It’s yours to control.