En Pointe

“Point your feet! Rotate! Don’t stick your butts out! Stay out of your heels.” I looked up from where I was sitting. There was no music—only the thump-thud sound of the dancers en pointe and the ballet master shouting. “Dance to the tips of your fingers and toes! Plié! Spot!” Ann obeyed; sweat ran down her face. “Tours chaînés déboulés,” the master barked. She struggled, her sleek muscles quivering with exhaustion. I’d never seen my aunt rehearsing. So, the contrast between seeing her stage performance—where she glided effortlessly on the tips of her pointe shoes—and seeing her studio rehearsal baffled me. “Rond de Jambe en l’air and Frappé.” The master paused; the dancers gathered at the barre. “Fifth position, preparation sur le cou de pied. Single frappe en croix each position getting two counts.” He strolled around the dance studio. “Close Fifth position front.” Ann panted for breath. “Single rond de jambe en l’air en dehors twice at 45°.” Her corded tendons stood out like insulated cable. “…Now close to sous-sus front.” But when the curtain rose later that winter evening, there stood my aunt—her feathery light body rose en pointe. Ann lifted her arms and breathed in the music sending it through her torso, arms, and legs. She surrendered to the music and spun like the wind across Swan Lake—her tutu fluttering like the wings of a bird at dawn. Dancing became her body’s song, and Ann sang it beautifully as her body told the story of Odette, the Swan Queen, and her love for Prince Siegfried. floor is her canvas when she dances, she's the brush she paints from her heart gracefully she moves her pirouettes effortless gliding on the air dazzling Tour en l’airs with grace en pointe she performs brings beauty to stage