Martyr Dance
Are you tired of it yet?
Under the blinding spotlight
she denies herself the tiny things
then bigger ones
more and more
‘til she dissolves into smoke
Nothing remains onstage
but a rictus smile that pierces
the darkened theatre,
yet tenders no applause
Night after night she performs
this trick, passed down
from iterative mothers long gone,
tired limbs resenting moves
perfected
even before birth.
One evening, in the silence of her final bow
freedom whispers instructions
only her heart can hear.
She retreats to the wings,
flips the houselights switch, and waits as
incandescent bulbs bloom into light,
dawning a new reality into her view—
the reason why
she hails a cab
and walks away from the stage forever;
the reason why
her martyr dance
changed nothing, never could;
the reason why
she is determined to tell the truth to
every woman she knows:
emptiness fills every seat in the house.