Quinceañera
[No. 83]
WHAT PREVENTS YOU FROM DANCING?
An original poem by Vanessa Tahay
Today is my cousin’s Quinceañera dance rehearsal.
A symbol of the woman she is becoming. As she practices the surprise dance, the merengue and bachata, I admire that fire she has within.
How effortlessly her feet tap to the rhythm, how in tune her body sways to the songs.
My mother says that I was born with two left feet, that my lack of coordination is something that should be studied.
I laugh along because it’s true.
I’ve spent plenty of time rehearsing in my room.
Closed the curtain. Closed my door. Turned off the light,
And let my body coordinate its own moves to any song.
Sometimes it feels like this body hasn’t been mine for so long.
How do I explain this to my mom?
How do I explain the scars I wish to embrace?
How do I explain that my two left feet have slowly lost coordination because it is so hard to keep myself standing?
A lack of self-esteem deeply rooted from lack of love,
Rooted from trauma.
I wish to guide this body that lost its strength at the age of ten.
How do I force this fire I have within and burn this remorse I have fed for so long?
Mother calls my body the temple of God, but I don’t think it’s holy anymore.
[I’ve detached myself and left a hollow home].
I call it ignorance, I call it fear, I call it any other name but my own.
I must relearn how to freely dance in here.
To honor the craft it will take to remold myself into a tune so effortlessly held and beautiful.
I will press play, start this rehearsal, correct any missed steps from the choreography, and slowly tap my feet to the rhythm, a gentle reminder that I am here.
