ghazal on opening night and a proposed change in occupation


there is still enough time for lullabies and sex.
the curtain put me out of my misery. it's early yet.

we discard our leotards. the sweat of successful dancers
crashes loud about my ears. their laughter cuts my looking glass.

i pack up my errant limbs, my bloody hands and cheeks,
my complicit feet, my own body an agent of murder.

i shall take another occupation. it must involve sweat,
this time without the stench of embarrassment.

i forgot my partners. forgot what foot goes where when.
forgot that a body in motion can be an enchanting thing.

what do i remember? the quick change. the lift.
losing my grip. movement dismembered.

i remember the moment onstage i became a butcher
instead of a dancer. i chopped the choreography's head off.

blood pooled at my feet and i forgot the show
must go on. why does the audience always applaud?

i shall wear a white apron, instead of a leotard. if anyone asks
how i got into butchery, i shall say it came naturally.