The Geometry of a Language Called Ballet — Makela Shen

the first lesson i learned was how to stand,
holy lines and carved hips and sideways knees,
heels pressed until the body believes its own lie.
i only see those patterns in taxidermy—
lacquered-on rosin dust and a doll version of movement, legs a language
that i was not born knowing. in my language
my mom says my 腿 look 太短.
she tells me to imagine myself as a swan, sylph, snowflake,
because imagine is the prayer closest to the color of my
bruised nails under split satin and the frayed valleys of my
coffined toes. maybe that’s why i don’t cry
because tears would prove i am not that myth.
these are lessons i won’t forget—to be stolen and scraped into marble,
posed into lifelike beauty. i have 含 their standards in my mouth and crunched
my jaw down until they splinter into tasteless chalk.
i am vivisected between my ribs and peeled back
by wet fascia, stripped to cartilage until
they can claim my hands in ribbons.

腿 ~ leg(s)

太短. ~ too short

含 ~ held (usually a candy) without chewing in one’s mouth

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Makela Shen is from California. Her work has been recognized nationally with a Gold Medal by the Alliance for Young Artists & Writers, NCTE, Blue Marble Review, Writers of the Future, and more. You can find her curled up with a good book or falling out of her turns in a dance studio on most days.