ballet class

“What thou lov’st well remains, the rest is dross
What thou lov’st well cannot be reft from thee”

What is it that makes the memory of one rainy day in June —
a toxic “park” down by the sugar factory —
makes it so vivid now
he came up and said, “i am so sick, i tell you whut”
and i said i’ll take you home just follow me down here

and when i am dancing, holding on to shape and line, lifting through one tendu then one degage
this memory returns to my body

and then i see rama and sita
sitaramsitaram
and my feet are lifted then too and i come to in a moment
another life i had
a “summer of” as it wuz
the memory of your afternoon silence
on the day we had disappeared completely
and you wouldn’t speak anymore
now you know that you were thinking “whatever happens, this is.”
and i was already a ghost

and these days i move though greyer streets than home

i think of India, a big wave

Brett’s cigarette butts in the hotel drawer

Perestroika for Young Audiences

what is and is not property, “yo quiero mucho”

and i almost fall off the barre.
i so want to fall off the barre.

still tucked inside, the eidolons of mango honey