She stood crookedly at the desk <br />on that first day. <br />‘I’m Jasmine.’ <br />(Surely Kate or Jane would have suited her better) <br /> <br />Forty-something and heavy, <br />with a body <br />that had rarely moved, <br />and a sad pigtail <br />that hung down her back <br />like Eeyore’s tail. <br /> <br />I wondered how she’d go - <br />If she’d turn up again <br />next week. <br />And was pleasantly surprised <br />when she did. <br /> <br />Even more so <br />as the weeks <br />turned into months - <br />and the butterfly <br />that had been for so long <br />cramped in its lumpy chrysalis, <br />began to emerge. <br /> <br />Seems she’s doing something else <br />on Tuesday nights now. <br />Pity.<br /><br />Alison Cassidy<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/butterfly-dancing/
