I walked in, set down my box of belongings, and entered the kitchen. Reached towards the fridge door and pulled back with flourish. My body gyrating, I danced. Attempted pirouettes, enchuflas, and jump-splits, swayed to my own erratic beat. No joyous occasion, no accomplishments to adore. Last week, my car was repossessed. The month before, I blocked my ex. Last year, I closed the door on my toxic cousin and bolted it. This morning, my job was downsized. I tried a handstand. Fell. Laughed. Vogued on the floor. Danced out on my balcony. The world watched. Finally, I felt free.
Danielle Ellis is an emerging writer from the Quad Cities and a reader for The Colored Lens. danifellis.com Bluesky: @daniellefellis