Press ‘Play’ to hear the author read their piece.

The Editor Attempts Bailar

I dance flamenco the way a giraffe
staggers after being shot with a tranquilizer.
I dance flamenco only slightly more gracefully
than my washing machine dances flamenco.
I execute flamenco turns like a three year old
with hands over head, tilting and dizzy.
My flamenco arms would actually be all right
were they not expected to move
while my legs were also moving.
I dance flamenco like someone
who wishes she’d signed up for tap instead.
When my flamenco teacher tells us
we can express anything we want
with our arms during this step, I usually
express a sense of gratefully not falling down.
My teacher is filled with pasion y arte,
she coaches us to gaze into our own eyes
in the mirror. When I gaze into the mirror,
I don’t see any fuego, just a white girl
in yoga pants and heels. I don’t see anything.
I watch myself fold in each finger, one
at a time, rotate the wrist, then open out,
amazed at the elegance, my familiar hands
transformed in smooth and luscious movement.
Walking home I count flamenco beats,
rhythm pulsing in my ribs despite
all my failures and flailing. Years later,
I’ll look back on this flamenco class
and wonder if I might’ve done it better
after giving birth, if all that pain
might’ve fueled something more fierce
than I was before. Years later, I still won’t take
another flamenco class. Years later,
I’ll remember how, at my best moments,
I danced flamenco the way a newborn colt
shudders to its feet still covered in blood.


Press ‘Play’ to hear the author read their piece.

The Medical Editor Gets Pregnant

I know what can go wrong,
seen it page after page.
There’s a whole list of words
ending in –cephaly alone that I need
to not think about, all of which,
in another world, I once ensured
were spelled correctly.

 

I know just enough to be dangerous, so
the ultrasound technician points things out:

 

Ribs.

Finger bones.

All four chambers

 

of the heart. I take home
the best thing I’ve ever seen,
a perfectly formed little spine,
and the tiny feet, too,
classic shots, clear enough
to print in a book.


Roxanne Halpine Ward (Twitter: @roxanne_h_ward Instagram: @roxannehalpineward) graduated from the MFA program at the University of North Carolina at Greensboro and is a past attendee of the Bucknell Seminar for Younger Poets. Her work has appeared in Georgia Review, CALYX, Greensboro Review, and The Sow’s Ear Poetry Review, and is forthcoming in Cave Wall, among others. Her chapbook This Electric Glow was published by Seven Kitchens Press in 2012. Her favorite sweet is a brownie (preferably a gooey, fudgy one).

Previous articleVictoria Lewis
Next articleCheryl Ward

LEAVE A REPLY

Please enter your comment!
Please enter your name here