Dancing on a Tinsel-Framed Stage

A makeup lady's chalky fingers poke and prod
until the face in the mirror isn't you.
Your eyes lined in thick black and auburn hues, unblinking,
and on your powdered forehead, a cherry-lipstick good-luck mark.
Trembling fingers fidget with sequined sleeves,
voices, frantic, as hair tumbles out of twisted buns,
or a retching noise as someone gives into nerves,
all barely heard over your drumming heart.
 
You file onto the obsidian stage,
the curtains crimson, tinsel-gold and garnished with glitter.
Festive evergreens line the background.
You share a look with your best friend, her mouth firm with resolve:
"1...2...3 relax," you think with a deep breath
as the flute flits around the pulsing drum beat.
Piano and symbols fill their lines
to the cla-tap, cla-tap, as one by one
the dancers in front of you pirouette
and fall dramatically, slowly, with arms raised,
moving like snakes to their tamer's pipes.
Your whole line taps backwards, reaching arms to the side
and back to center, arms poised and plie.
 
Faster, as you escape upwards with the arpeggios,
the harmonies cascade over your nerves
and as you leap with your soul,
it is just you and each note
performing to the applause of your heart.