A Toast! To Dance!


A Toast over the dinner table

A Toast!

To our first pink slippers, worn out more than grown out.

To our first taste of performance.

To our first taste of obsession.

To our first acceptance and first rejection.


A Toast!

To dripping sweat turned dried sweat and to dripping tears turned dried tears.

To the pleasure of sore abs and blistered feet.

To going across the floor another time.

To turn out and burn out.


A Toast!

To feeling validated.

To feeling ignored.

To feeling powerful.

To feeling weak.


A Toast!

To boastful embellishments we tell ourselves in order to quell ourselves.

To an uncertain future.

To disillusion.

To continuing anyway.


A Toast!

To the endless possibility of an open studio.

To the endless understanding only fellow performers can share.

To the endless power of holding an audience’s attention.

To the endless empty stage that lies in its wake.


A Toast!

To Dance!

Let it live in us as it dies in us and die in us as it lives in us, forever!

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