Dream

Her hair is tightly wound, drawn into a bun at the back of her head- twenty bob-pins and a little gel. She is wearing a black, low-back swimsuit and white tights. And ballerina shoes of course. As we watch, she lifts her arms, slowly, softly…and then she is dancing, twirling, bending, an ecstasy of movement, so purely beautiful. The auditorium is so quiet; you can hear her arms cutting through the air, a whoosh as she spins- it is as if the air is moving with her, jumping here, falling there, flowing around her…you can almost- just almost- see it. The light is cold, white, single, drawing patterns on her black skin, her feet as light as feathers, her eyes closed- iris pulsing beneath. And yet, she radiates heat, those sitting closest, like me, are already sweating. The curve of her back, black, babelicious. A gasp as she stops, frozen in mid-step, and begins to shimmer. At first we think it is our own eyes that deceive us, then blame it on faulty lighting- but no. She is shimmering. Like gossamer, blue oil on water, silk threads in a Cinderella dress… she shimmers. Back flip, she’s solid again, bowing, turning, a hint of a smile on her lips- a private joke with herself. Nobody claps. We just stare- immobile- her fingers pat out a tune in the air- absentmindedly, distracted, her hair is slowly beginning to come undone, her skin glowing, radiating something akin to light but not the same. And then she’s gone. An empty, soundless stage. As if she were never there at all. Like it? Hate it? Give me feedback!! Post a comment and let me know what you think. Visit my blog at www.ayeshathom.blogspot.com I'd love to hear from you!