Mommy watches ballerinas,
Their slippers whisper across the floor.
I wonder if she wants to dance,
But she stays beside the door.
.
Her eyes meet the screen,
Of pretty pink shoes and stockings,
That show her dreams
Of being a show Queen.
.
My discomfort is ignored due to the T.V.
Mother pays attention to ballet more than me.
I see these dancers use buns and bows,
That's how their hair looks.
.
Mother's fingers trace the screen,
While ballerinas twirl and bloom.
I clip bows into my hair,
Hoping she'll look across the room.
.
She never turns,
And watches the dancers spin.
The bows, satin slippers, and mirrors
Hold dreams that never bloomed.
.
Mother's perfume carries yellow flowers
Where forgotten petals loomed.