The SPIRIT of THE DANCER

The women were scattered and sticking to their uncomfortable comfort zones

There was a boom box by the officer’s area which mainly consisted of standing at the door

The door back to the inside of the Rose M Singer Center 

Which was a women’s detention center

Which sat on top of a landfill called Rikers Island

Planes would fly overhead frequently due to an Airport nearby

Everyone had awkward poses and either watched others

Or overcompensated with explaining the simplest of situations 

With theatrics and dramatics speaking loud and talking with their hands

But that’s the sign language of street new yorkers

I sat there looking at the planes and my thoughts were erratic

I couldn’t believe this was my life 

And thought about being on one of those planes 

And then thought about where would I go? 

I figured this is a bad movie so happiness doesn’t exist 

So you might as well get tough and be reckless 

But deep down I knew I wasn’t that tough or mean

The music was loud and I couldn’t loosen up and enjoy the rhythm

But then I saw a woman that I had seen when she was being intaken

And she had layers of clothes like a BAGLADY

Like the type that was homeless on was talking to herself

But then the song changed and she went into the center of this outside rec area 

And started to dance 

She had me mesmerized

She had moves I have never seen before

Simple, not overstated but the rhythm was magical

Still in her own world 

But now her world made sense

And she had the beauty of someone that had never 

been part of society so stopped worrying about who was watching 

I almost envied her 

The outskirts of women watched her 

and there was a weird connection between

What seemed all of us

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