A tarnished brass cup cowers behind other / forgotten relics in the dark cupboard.
The faded plaque whispers, “American Legion Essay / contest—first place 1960—“Americanism today.”
The girl who won is gone. She doesn’t remember / what convinced the judges. What were we then?
She does remember the writing instructions. / How odd. Form, not substance.
“Breathe. Feet flat. Relax.
Keep tools close. Vary
Hand pressure. Find a rhythm.
Glide. Twirl. Spin. Move.
Chin up. Dance.”
That was it! Form is part of meaning. How we do / what we do matters. It is part of us—but not all.
We were free. Independent. The woman wonders. / Is it still true?
The screen hums. Seductive. Insistent. The sound repeats. / Repeats. Repeats. Repeats.
Like a moth to light, she turns to answer. Her hand / clutches the mouse. Holds tight. Someone else is / leading this dance.
Are we still free?
Maybe.
Not.
