Dancer

Dancer

She always danced
even when she couldn't laugh.
It was easier, she said,
than crying. Besides,
it didn't cause wrinkles and
made life pass more quickly.

So she danced
and all who watched her
marveled at the graceful
lift of her arms and the
flash of her thigh but
we never looked at her face.

I looked once
but had to quickly turn away,
pain isn't very pretty
even when it's dancing.

Yet, she danced
and entertained us as we
threw roses on the stage
and she, mindless of the
thorns beneath her feet,
danced on.


December 10, 1992