The Ballerina

The winter's thorns
stick her fingers through her gloves
she slow dances alone
in her bedroom at the mirror
she cuts herself out of all her pictures
and piles herself on the bureau
she doesn't want to see
where she's been before
the ballerina twirls on the music box
the yellow light softens the walls
and she thinks that someday
it'll kill the flowers on the paper
she takes off daddy's dog tags
slips them beneath her pillow
an ambulance blares a siren through her window
and the ballerina ends the dance
she sweeps herself into a valentine chocolate box
puts her background scraps in the trash
blows her mirror a soft kiss
that doesn't make the noise
and continues an open ended prayer