Sometimes when I
dress up in a fancy outfit
for synagogue on Shabbos morning
I feel like I’m a ballerina
in the mirror at five
prancing flinging out my arms
to an audience
waiting around
the breakfast table
I sing out, Mom, I’m a ballerina
“Sit down already!” Her words hurt
Mom, I sing out, don’t you like it?
silence
My sister nods a gentle smile
