Tutu (backstage ballerina)

I can be
anything.
Little girls dream
and aspire
to be me.

A graceful bend,
Hand on waist,
Fingers reaching out
for the tips of powdery shoes.

Elegante, Grazioso,
A tinkle, a shine,
I am a dolphin,
Slicing through the water,
Arching, flying,
Shimmering blue on my slick flesh,
Soft pianos like a feather bed,
A paradise of vast cerulean.
A resonating note of a cello,
And a deep heart wrenching bass.
Suddenly,

I am a panther,
Velvet black,
Sleek and dark.
Between the shadows of the trees,
The amber foliage is my carpet,
The trees, my playground.
The cyan sky, my Father,
And the singing creek, my Mother.
I creep,
and cautiously pause,
before I fall,
into a lope.

A violin,
The whistling flute,
And I become

A robin.
Singing a merry tune,
Rustling of leaves, a harmony,
The golden shine of dawn, a memory,
The rosy, coral clouds,
An early pianist practicing,
in an apartment,
Near a quiet street,
Flickering lamps awakening.

A scene to behold.
I flit from one side to another,
Hopping, twirling,
Spinning and spinning,

A tinkle, a shine,
A whistle,
A stride,
Paws,
Fins,
Wings,
And a fall,
Back
into,
A dusty
chair,
In the dimly
lit backstage.