I’m backstage with her,
watching her as she weaves the
pink, satin ribbons up her legs.
Hiss
The hairspray sputters the last of its contents.
The announcer calls out her name and number.
She struts onto the middle of the stage
and gracefully falls to the floor to begin her routine.

The music starts-
A soothing melody plays through the speakers.
In one fluid motion,
she’s standing,
turning,
gliding,
balancing.

Only I can hear the soft thumps of her pointe shoes
as she moves throughout the stage.
She lands her jump with a barely audible thud.
Her white, skirt billowing out with every turn.

She strikes her final pose.
Her hands resting in front of her,
She’s still,
and I see her smile.
All the hard work has paid off,
and she walks off stage, proudly.
As she should be.