the pauper's ballerina

in a nearly empty studio

a single ballerina dances.

her hand placed lightly on the barre

at first

as she glances into the mirrored wall.

she stands,

slowly closing her eyes

and after a still moment,

pushes away.

she moves effortlessly,

the room silent

save the soft pat of her feet

on the hardwood floor.

her slender body steps perfectly,

not in the world class shoes

laying on the floor

that her father bought from france,

but in the ballet slippers that he made for her.

she dances in the seemingly endless moment

that fills her presence

with no thought but for one.

she dances without restraint

and without care for perfection,

though it is nothing but flawless.

she finishes at last

and exhales deeply,

pushing a lock of hair from her face.

smiling coyly,

though alone,

she glances once more

into the mirror by her things.

standing sideways and straight,

she places her hands on her thin waist,

then alters one to the small of her back

and pats her belly with the other.

she quietly inspects her bottom

and exhales once again,

pushing the same lock of hair behind her ear.

nearly satisfied,

she gathers her things

and leaves,

her father's shoes in a box

and his hung over her shoulder.