Oh, how you danced

Oh, how you danced

by Ashley Hong

Soft-pink and scuffed with joy.

I used to twirl with you on sunlit wooden floors,

catching glimpses of your toothy grin in the mirror.

I remember the way your toes curled shyly when you first met the music.

Oh, how you danced.

The world of rhythm and ribbons,

the light thumping of young girls’ bourré across the floor,

and the hum of lullabies drifting through open studio doors.

For the days you chose me over your sparkly sneakers,

for the clumsy spins and the way you whispered “again”

as you reached for the barre like it was a fairytale gate.

Now, I sleep in the back of your closet—

curled and quiet, smelling of dust and baby powder.

I still have vivid dreams of your dancing.

I long to feel the warmth of your small feet again,

the press of your heel as you learned to plié.

I want to remind you how fearless you were when

the world was just wide enough for imagination and a dance floor.

I know the world stretched too wide

along with your dreams and you grew up so.

But if you ever find me again,

if your fingers brush over my faded pink leather and loose stitching,

I hope you remember the music.

hope you remember how it felt to fly without leaving the

ground. I hope you never stop

dancing.