Often, she is a woman.
In twilight, oak-floored hours,
she’s a dancer.
Her movements
not fluid like rivers
but rigid—
deep, inhumane
desperation.
Perfection,
meaningless
in the shadows
of desire—
she twirls, a tempest
contained in smooth skin.
Faltering, hands
daggers, chest
a tremulous flutter
of whirring insect wings.
Nothing is easy
or elegant
but instead raw,
echoes of pain exorcised
from her contorted frame.
She’s tortured
through music,
movements sharp, spine
arched like tree branches
in a howling wind, limbs
warped like tangled,
unattended weeds.
A fish struggling
to swim, floundering.
An art form of agony,
her head bowed, feet
stretched towards the infinite.
Twisting, gasping,
she soars as if weightless,
a bird clothed in pale,
fluttering feathers.
Tumbling, she tosses
her lithe body into chaos;
and when the curtain falls
the world goes wild with applause.
Poppy Walsh
Grade: 11 / Sec. V
Sacred Heart School of Halifax
Halifax, NS
“As a ballet dancer, I wrote this poem about how dance, or movement, doesn't always have to be graceful to be fierce and emotional and raw. Ballet is beautiful and expressive, but I sometimes feel constrained by its intricacies and innumerable physical sensations to remember. This poem explores the idea of breaking free from those bonds and letting one's body express grief, or ecstasy, or anything, in whatever twisted, convoluted shape is necessary—and how freeing this experience can be.”
Bio
Poppy Walsh is a Grade 11 student living in Halifax, Nova Scotia, who has been an avid reader and writer from a young age. Her poetry often reflects her love for nature, the moon, words, and appreciating the little moments of life.