Learning to Dance

My entrada, my entrance has come.
I have waited years for this—
and I enter in an eight-panel cobalt skirt,
black leotard, nailed shoes,
the pale-haired dancer in the mirror of dark women
learning our first footwork, taconeo,
listening for compas, beat,
trying the first rhythmic palmas
we never knew waited in our hands.
We are taught to move our arms
like brightly ordered moons
around the planets of our bodies,
the space between, like cut-out galaxies.
My fingers take to the feel of the black castanets,
morse code of click and clap.
We learn to move our feet in hammering plantas,
stamping soles against the floor,
our necks, elongating into long sketch-scrawls,
our hips and legs pliant as clay,
new-made art.
I feel violently beautiful,
moving like the dancer I knew I could be.
Other moments, my legs and feet are rooted,
unable to move simultaneously
with my arms and fingers.
During these moments, when my body does not go
the way my dreams do,
or turn as advanced students,
I want to tell my teacher, wait—
flamenco is inside me
and even if I need to practice for years,
haunting your class like a lingering question,
I will learn what you teach. My entrada has come.

  • Artifacts of SoundArtifacts of Sound

    In Artifacts of Sound, Annabelle Moseley invokes Polyhymnia, sacred muse of music and dance. This collection is a virtuoso performance, sonorous and engaging.

    Read Poems

    Continue reading

    Order Artifacts of Sound Paperback @ $10.00

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *