She steps in to the organ drone,

to the faces singing from the walls

and the windows, the nave

they are all echoing her


vibrating the daughter who

doesn’t say what needs to be said,

stirring up ‘neurosis’ – some say

‘overly dramatic’ – others


They lay scores

under her shoes –

she treads copies that repeat

and reorder into phrases –


a requiem of heart and ears

sounding into muscle and violence,

into tenderness, reverberating over

the biggest attention-seeker


and the ball, the body –

air-twisting into the landing and the

‘don’t cross me here’,

but curling into a neat circle when she goes home.


A chorus of beauty, cruelty

humble and hyped up, conceit and

she keeps moving step after step

towards the altar – face repeated in the congregation


ringed by mirror, then mirror,

then faces of mirror and hands of mirror

applauding and applauding and applauding and applauding themselves

only themselves.