Degas Would Understand

The Degas prints of dancers haunted all my childhood dreams.

I would stretch, then leave the frame to float above the stage.

But I could never do the splits or jump into the air.

My ballet shoes bruised toes and bones. I left each dance class limping.

My body finally said enough. I had to concede failure.

I hid my beat-up ballet shoes behind my father's toolbox.

Now I am far too old to dance, but I can still remember

the thrill of standing on the stage to dance into forever.