Dancing with Baryshnikov
I’d swallowed ecstasy in a hotel
bathtub, and Baryshnikov,
in tight white tights, appeared to me,
bare-chested and beautiful.
As he stroked my cheek, it was clear
from his frown that he thought
I might die. Such were the profound
rotations of my eyes — brown
moons exiting their opal orbits.
Nonetheless, he demanded,
in his enduring Russian accent, I was
to ascend to heaven only if
I could tell him the name of my unborn
child. How did he know
I’d recently met a doctor who’d also
frowned down on me while drawing
from between my legs the unwanted
embryo, its heart flickering
like lights after a summer storm?
Baryshnikov had been nowhere then,
or maybe he’d been pirouetting into
another woman’s abortion, as she,
too, tried to shake the aching numbness.
I told him, Darling, there is no name,
only the memory of love and desire.
He lifted me up out of scalding water,
his strong hands propelling me, my hips held
high over his head, my legs breaking
into leap, lunging into sky’s impossible
vastness, a map marked by ghosts.
bathtub, and Baryshnikov,
in tight white tights, appeared to me,
bare-chested and beautiful.
As he stroked my cheek, it was clear
from his frown that he thought
I might die. Such were the profound
rotations of my eyes — brown
moons exiting their opal orbits.
Nonetheless, he demanded,
in his enduring Russian accent, I was
to ascend to heaven only if
I could tell him the name of my unborn
child. How did he know
I’d recently met a doctor who’d also
frowned down on me while drawing
from between my legs the unwanted
embryo, its heart flickering
like lights after a summer storm?
Baryshnikov had been nowhere then,
or maybe he’d been pirouetting into
another woman’s abortion, as she,
too, tried to shake the aching numbness.
I told him, Darling, there is no name,
only the memory of love and desire.
He lifted me up out of scalding water,
his strong hands propelling me, my hips held
high over his head, my legs breaking
into leap, lunging into sky’s impossible
vastness, a map marked by ghosts.
January / February 2023
Sonya Schneider lives in Seattle, WA, and is currently earning her MFA from Pacific University. Born and raised in San Diego, CA, she graduated with a BA in English from Stanford University. Her plays have been produced in Seattle, and her poetry can be found in Catamaran Literary Reader, Aji Magazine, Mom Egg Review, among others.