What it’s like to win

I feel high fever,

Alive and naked in the limelight.

Shamed by the ancestral ghosts

Of those who died starving

For the fraction of good stuff

I had the audacity to go for.

I didn’t know they’d scream so loud

In my face, already flushed

And try to ruin my joy

Because they only trusted suffering.

1st place in still life, World Art Awards —

And I’m worried out of my mind,

Startled by the sudden exposure.

What if I did or said some dumb shit?

Those pointe shoes

Weren’t Danced in much,

Damaged and deformed by poor storage

But were still treated like a talisman.

And now they have become

My Cinderella slippers,

Because of the magical people

And not giving up on what’s broken.

June 30, 2025

N.B.