Since I was a little girl
in pink taps, squeezing
my grandfather’s hand
on the subway platform
waiting for the 7th Ave IRT
its thunderous screech
didn’t unnerve me—
we were on our way
downtown to see
The Rockettes
Radio City
their glittering tiaras
their curtain of legs
rising, falling, rising,
sisters joined at the hip
not just as dancers
but protectors
of one another, of women,
their pointed toes, kicks
punctuating the air
taking care to dance for me
and all the other little girls
who looked up to them.
How great fifty years later
those legs are still swinging
freedom all over the stage,
legs that won’t rise
for just anyone.