My aunt, Ann Etgen-Atkinson owner of Etgen-Atkinson School of Ballet and Dallas Metropolitan Ballet and former prima ballerina with the New York City ballet. Watching her practice before a performance was the inspiration for this poem.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Each day begins with pain refined to grace, the body bent but never breaking—yet. The mirror has no room for soft embrace. A leap, a turn—each muscle must erase the doubt that lingers like a hidden debt. Each day begins with pain refined to grace. The music calls, a strict and silent chase, no step misplaced, no ragged breath to fret. The mirror has no room for soft embrace. Blisters bloom where satin ribbons lace, yet pirouettes refuse to pause or let~ each day begins with pain refined to grace. The stage demands what training can’t replace: a will that burns but never leaves a sweat. The mirror has no room for soft embrace. And when the final curtain starts to close, the ache remains, a ghost the dancer does not forget. Each day begins with pain refined to grace. The mirror holds no room for soft embrace. The accompanying memoir vignette can be found at poetrysoup.com/short_stories/turning_pointe_13606
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