Cinch your belt and straighten up, then tilt into a contraposto stance
and practice pausing: glance ahead as if you were a dancer
halting, poised, attending to the barest breath of cue you know
will soon require you to lilt on stage: perfect the ways you wait
in public: following a rubric of propriety and politesse, address
the empty air as if it were a scrutinizing sea of cultivated eyes intent
on sizing up your next and every move: remove all doubt, brush every
unseen awkward worry out and off your sleek and gleaming skin:
the piano noble is lit, the string quartet begins, your moment to arrive
is nigh. Or so I dreamed last night imagining what I’d feel like when I die.
