Ode to Pointe Shoes

They hang on a hook in my small closet, which ordinarily has no space for sentimentality. Dancers often refer to old pointe shoes as “dead,” a quirk that has transcended every city, every state, every country where I’ve danced: “My shoes are dead.”

And my pointe shoes are, unquestionably, dead.

Did I know, when I tied satin ribbons around my ankles on Christmas Eve, it would be my final dance en pointe?

Read more at In Touch Magazine

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