The Ballerina

How I Saved a Life

The eight-year-old next to me was restless.
She had taken five bites of her pizza
And wanted dessert.
Her mother,
Tired of little voices
Interrupting her conversation,
Gave both her children
One dollar
To spend, and not a penny more,
She says.

Money in hand
They climb under the table
And out to the counter
Where they press tiny noses to the glass
Thoroughly inspecting
Their choices.

He comes back
With a dinosaur cookie,
Roaring for it
And stomping it across his plate.
She comes back
With an overly frosted cupcake,
A plastic ballerina
Poised gracefully
Over her small, white island.

I am entranced by the
Tiny figure,
Looking sadly down to her feet
Trapped in the icing.

I wince as the girl shoves her
Into dough,
Improvising the dancer’s background.
She was born from an egg,
Was delicate,
Needed a soft bed.
Shh, she’s sleeping.

I began to feel sorry
For the fragile figurine,
Knowing what her future held.
Within hours
She would be forgotten.
Cast aside,
Worthless.
She will be thrown away
In a sudden need for cleanliness.

I quickly ask for a dollar
And crawl under the table,
Returning with the life
I saved
In hand.