Her wet cheeks
Glisten as she stands
In fifth position,
Center stage.

The music forces
The fleeting moment,
And her tutu shimmers
Like her sapphire eyes
As the light carries her
Across the floor.

She glides,
Shooting into the air
As it strips away the sequins
And glitter from her body.

She extends herself to the limits
Breaks herself into two.

The notes throw
Her downstage,
Tombe, pas de bourree, glissade
Saute de chat.
The grand finale and

Roses,
Roses.

The curtains close,
Her head drops as her eyes fill,
Choking back sobs
As she realizes it’s all over.

By Krista Topp

A fleeting moment