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Smalltown Dance by Judith Wright Two women find the square-root of a sheet. That is an ancient dance: arms wide: together: again: two forward steps: hands meet your partner's once and twice. That white expanse reduces to a neat compression fitting in the smallest space a sheet can pack in on a cupboard shelf. High scented walls there were of flapping white when I was small, myself I walked between them, playing Out of Sight. Simpler than arms, they wrapped and comforted- clean corridors of hiding, roofed with blue- saying, Your sins too are made Monday-new; and see, ahead that glimpse of unobstructed waiting green. Run, run before your are seen. But women know the scale of possibility, the limit of opportunity, the fence, how little chance there is of getting out. The sheets that tug sometimes struggle from the peg, don't travel far. Might symbolise something. Knowing where danger lies you have to keep things orderly. The household budget will not stretch to more. And they can demonstrate it in a dance. First pull those wallowing white dreamers down, spread arms: then close them. Fold those beckoning roads to come impossible world, put them away and close the cupboard door. one of the things i'm most afraid of.