DEAR PINA,—Part One
This is my grandmother’s suitcase. It’s mine now: a blue apron, sensible shoes, a string of amber beads. I know how to speak. To get up I fall down.
Inside this skull the shadows flicker. The bones are locked with words, The shadows jabber. Too many chairs.
I can watch, O yes. I will watch for hours. Teach me to run, to sweat, teach me to breathe. I gesture madly with ink on my hands. Give me satin dresses, give me high heels. My fingers hurt. Give me fire and wings. I want lemons and a yellow scarf.
Open me to swallows, the light behind the walls.
Please, please. I cannot stop crying. Please. I never learned to dance.
I wrote this after seeing a dance performance by that name, choreographed by Hannah Dennison, in honor of the late Pina Bausch.