My Ballet Slippers Still Fit Abby Parrish

My mom always told me I came into this world dancing The second I was able to move freely, I moved rhythmically To the beat of my mother’s cries, to the rhythm of the hospital monitor I moved freely and I moved rhythmically

I couldn’t walk, but I could still dance

I moved my arms in motions through the air Creating images in my head that I wished to express but could not say I moved expressively and I moved longingly

In our little Hong Kong apartment, Mambo Number 5 booming out of the speaker Twirling throughout the living room, finally able to move my feet Tapping and pirouetting and stomping and galloping I moved loudly and I moved joyously

My sister and I choreographed combinations We made up dance moves, some that nobody had ever seen before Falling to the ground after attempting jumps and turns We moved creatively and we moved without fear

I joined a dance team and we were taught by Miss Jennie 7 years of my life, tying up pointe shoes, getting fitted for tap shoes We dressed up for competitions and we won platinum awards We moved obediently and we moved synchronously

I stayed silent during water breaks Pretending not to hear them laughing about how I wasn’t good enough I cried in the bathroom, but wiped off my tears and tied my ballet slippers back on When did moving start to become a chore?

I still dance across my hardwood floor to beautiful sounds I let loose at school dances and music festivals

At parties and beaches late at night, hand in hand with friends I move out of love and I move out of joy

My mom asks me, “Don’t you regret quitting? I miss watching you dance on stage.” I smile and say, “Don’t worry, my ballet slippers still fit.”