My Cardboard Balcony

I Ate by Belinda Roddie I ate a pomegranate from the bowl when I was waiting in the underworld that was my mother's kitchen. Ma unfurled the ribbons on her gown and made them twirl as she danced, kicking up her heels so dust flew into my face. I spat out the seeds from the fruit and counted them on the hard surface of the table. There were more than I expected, and no one noticed but me. I was still hungry - my mouth was cold, but my mind was hot, my stomach broiling, aching for something more than the sweetness that only lingered for an hour or two. My mother, mid-dance, said, "No more for you."

Natalie Bishop had never had the opportunity to perform in front of a real audience before, and funnily enough, she wasn't nervous about it. I caught her adding rouge to her cheeks in the dressing room, most likely preparing herself mentally to hit the highest notes as best as she did during her aria. I froze in the doorway as she did her make-up, and I knew I didn't need any help from powder or a brush when it came to how much I was blushing just watching her.