Beneath the dirt,
beneath the fat
she is a dancer.
Lithe and limber, waiting to
stretch herself beyond the walls she's built to hide behind,
the fences she’s constructed to guard her tender places.
But she remains still,
steadfast and sturdy in the comfort of who she is.

And who she is
is shy and stumbling.
Her words are hurried children
bumping one another with shy apology
gaining confidence and speed
until tripping and falling again.

Though her words are children, she is growing older.
Becoming gray in the sun, out of the shade,
and remembering with fondness
her days gone by,
while just surviving the ones
that will come tomorrow.

AcB 9.21.00