11 years old, ballet class by Lauren Suchenski

I still feel the small scratch
of the barre against my fingertips;
small splinters in the ancient wood
the marley floor bouncing back
at me; a friend who never wanted to play
the chill of the piano and
my back straight as an arrow –
firing shots into the ceiling,
the bones of my toes stretched
in angled wizardry;
something that the angles of my
sinews are not meant to make –
shapes, like birds barely able
to take flight
I remember hiding in the bathroom /
I remember when I got my period
and it showed on my fresh pink tights ,
because the tiny bridge of my leotard
was the only barrier I had between the world
and myself ; the prepubescent gawkishness
of tiny breasts poking out of Lycra –
the endless mirror : staring at every small
shape my bones made,
my musculature only a form to be recognized
inside of a perfect form
in the mirror : the shiny friend I had
whose hand never held mine
but just bounced it back in deformed reflection
and the clock ticking – memorizing exactly
how many more minutes I had to go
my little hand grasping the barre with all I had
to hold on to something, anything
Lauren Suchenski has a difficult relationship with punctuation. She has been nominated twice for the Pushcart Prize and four times for The Best of the Net. Her chapbook “Full of Ears and Eyes Am I” (2017) is available from Finishing Line Press, and a full-length collection “All You Can Measure” as well as a chapbook “All Atmosphere” (Selcouth Station 2022) are forthcoming. You can find more of her writing on Instagram @lauren_suchenski or on Twitter @laurensuchenski.