The Old Sprite

The Old Sprite

Accompanied by my imaginative theatrics, the story spread fast and consistently. My immediate and extended family, ever so eager and ready, would confirm that hearsay voluntarily: I was a dancer with a sprite’s flair, that I would improvise ecstatically. Whether over a real or an imagined tune, I would deliver my role as the honor guest of a yet-unheard beat. Leaving every loved one in awe, giving each an extraordinary treat.

Dance steps have always known how to find in me a most loyal companion. I, after all, had the dedication as long as I received undivided attention.

Ample laughter from an adoring audience was always alive. Without me on that imaginary stage, not even a single cadence had a chance to thrive.

In later years, that young bliss came back to me. On a day when I had concluded it was long dead. Hence, I submitted to the magic of the music in my head. However, I did so in disguise. For, my Self was still afraid to re-appear. The melodic joys, thus, ceased to be.

© hülya n. yılmaz, 3.15.2020

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From my upcoming new book of prose poetry, Letter-Poems from a Beloved