Tiny Dancer

Fresta de luz

Tonight five 6th grade girls

performed

the most flawless Palestinian dubkeh

I've ever seen.

Mistakes were perhaps present -

perfection just a 10-letter word -

but with every kick and turn,

a full audience came closer

to another world turned not-so-foreign.

Those little bouncing bodies,

so full of light and love and future,

jumping,

stomping,

clapping

in unison,

hand in hand - 

bright-eyed,

hearts pumping -

stomp, stomp, 

beat,

stomp,

beat.

One woman

even wept

at the sight of so many tiny dancers

moving to a new rhythm.

A seemingly insignificant

prance,

a mundane little school rehearsal,

on such a microcosmic stage.

Oh, how often we tiny dancers suffer:

Toes bleeding,

we misstep,

we feel too weak,

too small,

too insignificant,

too out of sync,

too overwhelmed by the spotlight

too crushed

by our own inner critique

cutting deep,

that we miss

the rush,

we miss

the dance,

we miss

the woman weeping.