I CANNOT dance upon my Toes—
No Man instructed me—
But oftentimes, among my mind,
A Glee possesseth me,

That I had Ballet knowledge—
Would put itself abroad
In Pirouette to blanch a Troupe—
Or lay a Prima, mad,

And though I had no Gown of Gauze—
No Ringlet, to my Hair,
Nor hopped to Audiences—like Birds,
One Claw upon the Air,

Nor tossed my shape in Eider Balls,
Nor rolled on wheels of snow
Till I was out of sight, in sound,
The House encore me so—

Nor any know I know the Art
I mention—easy—Here—
Nor any Placard boast me—
It’s full as Opera—

Emily Dickinson

Tonight’s performance (123) is dedicated to Kora, a word-loving friend who used her formidable literary hunting skills to chose the absolutely most perfect poem for a ballet dancer who dresses as a monkey every night to tell a story about a Victorian opera house. “One claw upon the Air”! My dance captain couldn’t have put it better.