sur la pointe
—
Aching bones, shooting pains through the arch of my foot, toes that bruised and bled. I was a slave to a burning pull inside that whispered, move, extend, reach, breathe, breathe, breathe. You give over your body when you dance; you allow the music to carry you to and fro like crisp leaves being evicted from trees by howling winds. The surrender is sweet and bitter at once, a willingness to open your own veins with a smile just to let the rhythm into your blood. The desire is not one of those which fade over time, sinking quietly back into the recesses of who we used to be. It stays alive and present, ready to lift us up and out of whatever reality in which we’ve settled. 
© Jennifer Summer | 2015