Dreams

—by Natasha Claire

Skates hit the ice
A flurry of metal and snow

Small feet flutter over hardwood
Pointed toes

The puck dances between sticks
It glides into the net

My body moves with the song
Brows furrowed against beads of sweat

Arms collide in celebration
The crowd cheers

I bow to the empty room
Only silence meets my ears

He runs into our parent’s arms
They smile and hug him

I sit on the stairs outside
The streetlights dim

The hum of a car engine
The click of a car door
I sit in the backseat
And hear all about his team’s score
I’m quiet while they speak
Hearing again about the sport he so adores
Meanwhile the medals on my shelf
Are simply decor

He stands in the net
Adorned with new gear

I dream that I may get new dance shoes
Maybe next year 

I stare at the clock
The minutes don’t slow 

The game’s not over
I watch the time for my practice come and go 

My parents don’t notice
Eyes glued to the rink

So focused on their precious boy
Ignoring my passions without even a blink 

They praise him for his performance
Taking pride in his favourite sport

But mine are somehow just hobbies
A fun activity I will eventually abort

Maybe they’re right
Maybe it’s not so serious

Hockey could make him famous
Dance just makes me delirious 

Small feet fall still on the hardwood
Arms heavy, toes flat 

And I give up my dream of becoming an acrobat