In memory, a tiny dancer twirls
upon a mirrored surface, to a waltz.
Her tutu, hair, and toe shoes are a girl’s
first fantasy – the princess/swan exalts
what fancy later horse and wedding wins.
But first this music box has center stage –
the molded-plastic ballerina spins,
and viewing I review my early age.
She wasn’t beautiful, but good enough.
Her colors were extravagantly pink.
And I was dazzled by her balance, rough
determination, lack of switch or link.
She seems familiar who was then unknown:
a ballerina formed to dance alone.