Dance Rehearsal: Middle Age
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The woman picks up her chard, still in shock,
while the trees bare the boards of their failed lives
to the audience. When she turns her back to us,
we are left at the tender edge, leaning in to
what will happen next. The choreographer whispers
the next scene and the woman responds by dropping
her bags again. We can’t see her face. When she walks
amongst the women scrubbing their dreams,
they stop. One of them rises to greet her. Another
adjusts her mouth. More women gather, settling
her hair, straightening her story. The woman can’t keep
hold of anything, her hands unclaspable.
Though the trees offer enough shade, the women use
a broad spectrum of excuses to offset aging.
The choreographer has asked them to seduce
their mirrors but they are too busy. The woman has dropped
her avocados and her chard is so wilted it will need to be
startled or, at the very least, steamed.
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