10/14/2015
Dance Class, by Ann Cooper
Mothers and grandmothers,
we coax our morning muscles
and contort our arthritic toes,
cavorting to throbbing rhythms.
Never mind the beanpole teacher,
younger than our daughters,
who shouts steps and encouragement
and knows she'll never be that old.
Humor is our sustaining virtue.
No pain, no gain, we laugh.
Tight thighs are the prize,
grateful we can undertake
routine maintenance for our
sagging, high-mileage bodies.
Inside we are graceful, slim,
and young--recollecting jete'
plie' and grand battement;
floating in gossamer gowns
across Swan Lake landscapes.
Glimpses in the mirrored wall
show us our lissome body myths,
We are immune to the absurdity.
Small boys pass the windows,
grinning, We clown for them--
parody bad backs, pull faces,
confirm their preconceptions
with proof of weird and aged.
We are witches and doubt not
that stiff, wrinkled, and old
beats the sole alternative.
Excerpted fron anthologist Sandra Martz's
bestseller, "Grow Old Along with Me--
The Best Is Yet to Be."