En Pointe
A poem by Shannon Frost Greenstein


En Pointe
 
Gelsey Kirkland used to sleep in her pointe shoes
between all the Baryshnikov and the cocaine;
and I get every part of that equation intimately
because there’s absolutely nothing
like watching Mikhail Baryshnikov
do 11 pirouettes in a row.
 
They said Margot Fonteyn didn’t have great feet
and I get that intimately, too,
because they also said I didn’t have the hips
to ever be a prima ballerina;
but as soon as I learned
that artists are always supposed to suffer –
as soon as I undersood
that discipline is always supposed to hurt –
you can bet I started sleeping in my pointe shoes, too.

To be light and ethereal
takes a shit-ton
of pressure and pain.

But after two years of restless sleep
and twenty years of brutal training,
it would still turn out they were utterly correct;
and I have been mourning
what it felt like to dance
ever since.

None of this is unique, of course;
countless dreams of professional ballet
have suffered a merciless death
at the hands of biology and time.
But being a dancer was how I came to know
the concept of a God
when I urgently needed something in which to believe;
and being a dancer was my singular purpose
when I was still innocent enough to trust
that sheer willpower could be enough.

Now, twenty years removed from tutus and Swan Lake
there remains a cavernous schism
deep in my psyche
which nothing has yet managed to fill.
Because despite the agony and the heartbreak and all of the eating disorders
there is literally nothing like being en pointe.


About the Author:

Shannon Frost Greenstein (she/her) is the author of “These Are a Few of My Least Favorite Things,” a poetry collection with Really Serious Literature. She is a former Ph.D. candidate in Continental Philosophy and a multi-time Pushcart Prize nominee.

Follow her at shannonfrostgreenstein.com or
on Twitter at @ShannonFrostGre
Insta: @zarathustra_speaks


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