 |
Misty Copeland is a ballerina making
a Broadway career, and has nothing to do
with the poem, but doesn't everyone who
makes it big start small, with people
telling them they can? |
A Broadway show is coming
and the town's excited since
one of our own will take the stage.
We will not care if it's a re-release
of something from the Golden Days,
or something new that most of us
won't understand at all. It's grand
that we can say, "I knew her when."
We knew her when she wouldn't talk
above a whisper; when her mother
(and our friend) thought she might
have some sort of dread condition
or disorder, but it just took time
for her to blossom into who we'll see
up there in lights, the costume fitting perfectly,
the music in her range, and we will ooh and ahh
with all her fam'ly in the dressing
room when once again the stage is dark,
and share our fav'rite stories of the
little girl we always hoped would come
out of her shell, and tried to help.
And now she has, and no one could
have guessed that she would be
not only "normal" - if that word
is even real - but shine with magic.
A reporter will take notes and hear her
say, quite humbly, that each word of
praise, each standing O, the deafening
applause is not so much for her,
as all of us who told her she was
special, that she
could, and that one
day, she
would, and that we'd be there
when she
did with flowers and with
whistles and with love.
(c) Ellen Gillette, 2016
