Day 429

What she loved best was to dance.
Once her dreams were populated
with pliés, jetés, toe shoes,  
extravagantly lit stages.
Now shrapnel inhabits her spine,
one leg is gone, the other paralyzed.
She rolls her wheelchair through dust,
watching other children run.  Sometimes
she tries to stand, pulls herself up
with her arms, which are still
strong, which still
belong to her.  At night she waves her arms
through the air as though
they could propel her through time,
through distances.  In darkness her arms
dance like wind,
trees, flame.  Sudden explosions,
the pain of loss. Then she sees
for a moment it’s possible
they could tell the whole story.