130 The Meadow To my Black Ballerinas from their White Teacher Ellis Elliot You do not have to demonstrate jumps, sure feet of perfect pencil points. You do not need to worry about the arabesque’s exquisite line, from peeling polished fingertips to stretched toes. You do not need any particular posture today, Victoria and Namyla and Diamonique. Paris and Raquela and Elayah. No corrections, no body shouldn’ts or shoulds. Instead, collapse. Become shape-shifting poems risen. Invite your weight, your newfound breasts and hips, to sink. Write your names on silted sand in octopus black ink. Write your strongbodied names across this new day, arms circled front, palms in, as if a planet balanced between them.
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