Shadow Puppets

Her fingers,

held high above her head,

stepped delicately between

the wan shafts of light. They

sang of dreams and thrummed

with the rapture of hope.

They danced on shadow.

She watched them pirouette

and waltz amidst the airy

specks of dust. Every

flourish and flick of

the wrist graceful and raw –

passionate and loving.

Each leapt across their shimmering

spotlights and danced like nothing

else in the world mattered,

like nothing ever had.

Only the dust that swam in

the air like starry constellations

against the dark, expansive

backdrop of the tiny closet

and the faint beams of sunlight

that traced their every move.

These shadow dancers and

their dusty stage –

her entire dusty world.

Then, all too soon,

the lights began to fade,

seeping back through the

wooden slats of the door

like the pale ghosts of

moonlight. She watched

them go as all her little

shadow dancers curled

out of sight.