The Dance of the Little Death
In a hotel room, the stage is improvised.
I could find the exact date if you wanted,
by the same mathematical principle
by which my ballet teacher taught me
not to move forward, toward the mirror
but up and out, as though I were hollow,
a metallic toy that was pumped, spun,
and flew until it rusted, my scabs and
dust returning to where I once lived,
under a power outside myself:
Because on that date I finally understood
what she meant about the string extended
from the soles of the feet to the top of
the head; not marionette but the taut
animation of a doll or puppet assigned
to drug the story’s antagonist through a
pantomimed draught, chasing down sleep
or confusion about whom to love,
whom to run off with;
I had never danced with all the theories
in tandem with the abstracts, and never
since, limbs and digits in homage to birds
and princesses I’ve been so nakedly
jealous of because I am so human,
preternaturally unbalanced on one
side, twisted and ripped on the other
before I ever began so that years
of therapies couldn’t repair what
shouldn’t have been demanded
in the first place, though we didn’t
know that then; of course, as you
applauded with your arms stiff
and cigarette clenched between
front teeth, as though you anticipated
participation rather than performance,
and the next act depended on how much
thrust and impulse I applied to the apogee
of my leaps.
• • •
Jane Rosenberg LaForge writes poetry, fiction, and occasional essays from her home in New York. Her latest book of poems is Medusa’s Daughter from Animal Heart Press. More poetry is forthcoming in The Awakenings Review, The Chiron Review, and Pirene’s Fountain. She has also published two novels and a memoir. Her 2018 novel, The Hawkman: A Fairy Tale of the Great War (Amberjack Publishing) was a finalist in two categories in the Eric Hoffer Awards. Her new novel is Sisterhood of the Infamous (New Meridian Arts). She also reviews books for American Book Review and reads poetry for COUNTERCLOCK literary magazine.