Pink Silk and Cardboard
Irie Browning

//foot-binding in china
was brought on
and kept up
and encouraged
and held
by the women,
not the men.
the mothers and
daughters
crippling themselves
for the sake of Mine
I will ruin my feet
for my beauty
like the dancer
who did it
First/

(You will not
take this from Me)

/I cannot judge them as
at sixteen i begged
my mother
to let me get pointe shoes,
my teacher said
i was ready
2.5 years into lessons, yes
i knew about the blisters yes
and the bruises
and the blood,
a rite of passage:
pale pink silk
stained Red.

for eight months
i wrapped my feet
in pink silk and
stood on just the
tips of my toes
on compact cardboard.
extension.
turnout.
“get all the way
over the box”
a hundred of
my own
hard-earned dollars
for
pink silk and
cardboard.

why did i dance
why did i want
these shoes so badly that
(had Death not cut
in, spilled grey
into what-once-was–)
i Would have bruised
and broken
and bloodied my
own flesh within
pale pink silk
while my soul
stayed beating
to five-six-
seven and—

to dance ballet.
to grand jeté into
splits-in-the-air.
to freeze with the
smallest
point of connection
between my toe
and the floor.
to launch into a
quad pirouette,
spotting on the
tutu hanging
in the corner
and land it
P e r f e c t l y

to dance ballet.
to ruin one’s feet.
to sew ribbons and
pack cotton
and duct tape
around bruises from
last night and
last night
and last night’s
lessons.

a hundred
and twelve
Dollars
for pink silk and
cardboard
waiting for sweat
and blood

(I am Better now.
In time,
hope bleeds through
grey.

were money
and time
and access
no
object,

I would dance with
pink silk
and cardboard

again.)

Because

to dance ballet—

to dance ballet;
to make My feet
My Own
within pink silk
is the closest I
have ever come to
f l y i n g //

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