No matter how she began
Or the tears that came
From the pain she felt
In moments of shame
Knowing poise and grace
Weren’t hers to claim
Though she wanted them so
How incredibly vain
To have taunted fate
On a crowded stage
That would never be
Her sole domain
When midlife spent in distressed jeans
Doing graceless things
Chronicled her rightful reign
Over a certain future where muscles
Weren’t required to behave
And three precious faces
One Jack, two Janes
Commenced each day
On the right plane
Though once in a while
For old time’s sake
She would slip on the shoes
With laces a skein
To revisit a scene
Every now and again
When she was not
On aging terrain
But instead, where it all began
And as the music would fade
She would take a bow
As her worries drained
Knowing fate became
What it should have been
And she would make her peace
With yesterday
While embracing her clumsy
Middle-aged frame
And saying goodbye
To grace

Copyright © S. A. Healey

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