she squinted at us in the
gathering dust and trapped
a few hard-won tears in her crow’s feet
her white hair flailing wildly

her ululations escaped as she twirled
and we knew in a flash
that the dancer never really left -
our village was not yet ridiculous
enough for a dry joke

her toes rapidly pitter-pattered
pocking the hard ground that had
become cracked like old parchment
bearing a fading contract

she called us wordlessly into the growing fray
and we began to clap faster as she slapped
her chest and grunted sharp staccato
ugh-ugh-ughs
that whistled though her last teeth

she coughed and spat and then
plucked a wind string that led back
to her first dance

her knees knocked together
and then she flinched with a

HA!

and then the robin’s egg broke
and the sky burst over us

she took her last bow in the crashing applause
plunged backwards
through the falling curtains
and exhaled fragrant petrichor