by Mari McKee
A wistful poem about a child's jewelry box and the magical ballerina within
Hurrying to my bedroom cupboard,
finding books to stack and climb,
I fetch my beloved jewelry box
sitting on top shelf so sublime.
I open the top of my beloved box,
heart pounding, eyes opened wide,
childish impatience wanting to see,
the magic ballerina who resides inside.
Winding the key, tinkling music commences,
ballerina executes a curtsey and smiles,
“Please, will you dance for me?” I implore,
She assumes first position with a look that beguiles.
Lost in the mystical beauty,
the classical music feeds her soul,
the ballerina performs with precision,
a perfectly executed adagio.
Sculpted body stands on one leg,
her position is charmingly picturesque,
the other leg she extends straight back,
in exquisite balance of an Arabesque.
Perfect tiny feet on point,
ballerina’s spirit so blithe,
jete’ piroute, jete’,
intricate ballet steps so lithe.
“Dinner is ready’ my mom calls,
my magic jewelry box I carefully close,
“I will see you soon, magic ballerina”,
knowing she will remain in graceful pose.
Years later, however, no music would play,
magic ballerina now aged could not bend,
my tears flow freely for her and for me,
my childhood magic had come to an end.
I kept my magic jewelry box my entire life,
though long ago I had lost the cherished key,
when, suddenly, a tunnel of light appears,
and I see my dancing ballerina beckoning me.
Holding her hand, I dance for love,
holding my hand, she dances for me,
my ballerina and I dance together,
forever into Eternity.