gentle, god-like

FROM, BREANA

PHOTOS BY COURTNEY KESSLER

 

eye knew dance forever

eye was three in the studio

 

tutu

pink tights

snatched bun

making friends

 

sanctuary,

a place to wiggle

n run

n take up space

freedom found me in the studio

 

ready

 

eye loved it there

where all the girls were

ready to laugh at my jokes

me w my dance bag

ready to whisper

 

eye kiki-ed w dance

we were homies

 

dance, my second language

almost my first

show off

 

 

even more than the studio made sense to me,

eye loved the stage

 

three minutes moving

red revlon over vaselined teeth

big

crooked

every tooth showin’

type smile

 

eye loved dance a long time

 

before eye started training

before rigor

n class everyday of the week

 

n u can’t wear that in here

n don’t stop

n don’t rest

 

and                  what summer program are u going to?

 

 

long before eye could put words

to the sensation eye felt in my body

 

long before the exhaustion mixed w disdain

n self hate

breana looks thoughtfully into the camera. They are wearing black. In the low lit background is a house plant.

 

dance tried to

rearrange its grasp on me

 

n eye slipped into the crowd

 

dance saw me

n eye sped up

 

walked after me

a couple hastened steps

 

n eye averted my gaze

 

pretending eye was someone else

a business major

 

dance didn’t search for me long

 

there’s so many of me,

so many hopefuls waiting

in the wings

 

or so eye was told

 

reminded,

near every class

 

it’s curious

to make a bond

 

with something,

yourself

 

fall in love

devote

 

as u are simultaneously told

how expendable u are

 

 

work

 

work

 

working

 

for the sake of working

for the privilege

 

of being told                 no

                                                   not yet

                                                   not enuf

 

//

 

we applaud

the ability

to put feelings aside

 

not                                           feel

 

 

don’t cry in the studio

ignore the menstrual cramps turning u inside out

the strain in ur hamstring

that blister covering the bottom of ur foot

or where the blister used to be

before u did grand allegro

 

the show must go on                          don’t be daft

 

perform ill

dance cold

eat later

 

 

extend the leg

turn it out

hold

hold

hold

turn it out more

more

keep the foot pointed

 

 

point harder

                      harder

fully extend thru that leg

 

 

 

 

 

 

                                                                and down

breana is wearing all black and looking toward the light streaming in through the window. Behind them is a houseplant.

//

 

dance was chock full of god like figures

 

worship

 

folks larger than life

confident

 

eye stood in awe

mimicking

 

hold my wrist

fingers

arm

glance             just right

 

 

the studio

on a sunday morning

 

 

the ultimate site of

ceremony

 

and for a time

a site of fasting ritual,                                     purging

 

what parts of myself

can eye look at today:

 

the dancer’s eye

 

what is the difference

between fixating on what is wrong

what can be modified

in the mirror

 

and hurting one’s self,                                                maybe

 

 

ballet

one point

in a constellation

of self harm activities

eye employed

 

 

//

 

 

two decades later

witnessing

a certain carriage

 

way of speaking

 

holding one’s self

can transport me

back to a room

a place

the studio

 

that one teacher

a mentor

 

that dancer eye emulated                                upon emulated

(including the eating disorder)

 

god-like

 

 

a workshop

an audition

 

a number attached to my leotard

(n the run in my tights that eye hoped no one saw)

 

 

the barre

under ur hand

the release

turn

 

the release

n return

 

place ur hand

but don’t hold on too tight

 

//

 

it took ten years to return to dance

return to movement

 

eye stopped calling myself a dancer

proudly

 

how could eye live in that space

 

how do eye go to that place of competition

without imagining my comrade as other

as different

as less than

 

the breana

that was tired

hungry

lacked support

 

the fourteen year old who walked to the train

to bart

a 45m ride to another county

to walk down fourteenth street

past the gurls finishing their night work

past the folks who worked the corners

 

thru cold

heat

with a backpack

and a dance bag digging into their shoulder

 

this was praised

this was the work

the sacrifice

 

all of the adults around me

expected it

encouraged it

patted me on the back for my ability

to do the hard thing

 

oh breana wakes up on their own

gets to class

 

look at that facility

the body

 

but where is the technique

the strength

 

hmm I expected …more

I expected you to deliver

 

long hours

and sleeplessness

 

being exhausted

n hungry

is a dangerous place

to build the nervous system

 

a certain type of staccato piano

can create an instant response in my body

A low lit picture of breana smiling. The picture is rotating on its side. In the background you can kind of see a houseplant.

//

 

now

in my thirties

eye have relearned my second language

reconnected

embraced

 

eye don’t use

the word dancer

even if my training

is forever harboured

in this body                                          stained

 

usually eye employ some

euphemism

like movement

 

never teacher

maybe             facilitator

 

something that brought me such joy

plugged into deep despair

not instantly

but over time

 

eye had to grow up

heal up

 

before eye could find myself

back to the studio

safely

 

eye feel deep gratitude

for my teachers

the humans that cared for me

as eye was learning to

care for myself

 

eye found many teachers

that were learning gentleness

tip toeing towards it

 

but it wasn’t a part of the curriculum

they came up on

 

they knew tough love

n doing the hard thing

 

n at times emulating that

has saved my butt

 

let me be clear

eye am grateful

 

 

 

eye hope to move until my last day

find pleasure n rhythm in this body

w wrinkles on my face

n white in my hair

 

eye pray for a

relationship to movement

that changes as eye do

n loves me back

 

a practice where eye am always enuf

n there is always

time

for gentleness

~~

breana is an interdisciplinary artist, facilitator + healer. they offer movement facilitation virtually and across Albuquerque, NM including at Black Widow Pole Arts + OffCenter Community Art Project. breana serves on the Southwest Contemporary Editorial Advisory Board. their first curatorial work Grief Movement can be found in Encompass opening March 2023 at Harwood Arts Center in Albuquerque, NM.

Note: This poem was first published in Stance on Dance’s spring/summer 2023 print issue. To learn more, visit stanceondance.com/print-publication.

One Response to “gentle, god-like”

  1. Ryan Washington

    Loved every word. or should eye say eye loved every word.

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