Joanna Preston: NYLON SUMMER

The curtains in the kids’ bedroom had pictures of ballerinas on them. Filmy nylon—there for decoration, not light exclusion. That summer I drew copies of the different positions, and practiced holding my arms and legs the same way. I was the awkward child, even at seven, always banging my shins and elbows and stubbing my toes. I wanted so much to be graceful. But even when I snuck outside to dance on the lawn in the moonlight, it ended in a tangle of arms and legs. A tutu wasn’t going to save me. I went to sleep looking up at the curtains.

dawn breeze—
the dancers change position

by Joanna Preston
Christchurch, New Zealand