Stasia Ward Kehoe

“Dare I tell them that since I came here to danceI have been giving pieces of my body awayTo ridiculous diets,To repeated injuries,To Remington?And that maybeI thinkWith each bit of my bodyI lose a little piece of my soul”

“Does it matter that people and thingsHave words,Have names?If not,Why read any book?A litany of useless lettersDetached from bone, muscle.Or are words the only things that make the muscle, bone, memory, movement,PersonReal?”

“Do I dare ask him for what I want,As if I knew it,Could find it on some pageIn some chapterIn some book?”

“It is strange to hear my wordsRead back to me.I don't think I wrote themTo have them ever leave the page.I think I only writeWhat happens across my brainWhen my feet are too weary To dance anymore.”

“I've a long time trying to lovea brother whose only way of touching me is pain.A long time escaping into music.Practice, lessons, rehearsals that protect mefrom the hurting parts of life.I've been winning awards, applause,acclaim for my trumpets since I was in grade s”