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Sunday, November 10, 2013

The Mag 193


Danseuse ajustant sa bretelle, 1895-96, Edgar Degas


 The Ballerina's Private Warm Up

She feels the constriction 
of a cocoon and the solitude- 
therein lies the crystalline craving 
to spin herself free.

A twirl to unwind- to whip-up
the motion to unclog the black and white
all around her-  she wishes for wind

she wishes for a spin-off of gale force
to extricate her from this morose.

She rises on her toes - shaky first
then in a solid stance her arms rise 
overhead with poise a momentary pause.

There is no music, except that alone
in her head- the composition
comes with spontaneity 

Is a powerful turn 
she thrusts herself into a running leap,
long legs scissor in defiance of gravity
then another, and a third
with a solid land- quickly
rising again to a pointe

she spins again 
shaking free of the grayness
her heart pounding
her chest heaves 
as she drops down
arms collapse to the floor
head bowing supplication...



Michael A. Wells


  



7 comments:

Jinksy said...

You caught a dancer's movements with your words - but did you not mean 'morass', rather than 'morose'? :)

Helen said...

You brought the dancer to life .. vividly, beautifully ... worthy of a standing ovation.

Michael Wells said...

Hi Jinksy... thanks for visiting. No, morose was the intended word.

humbird said...

Love the description of first steps in the dancing art/ life. Thoughtful
poem.

Tess Kincaid said...

Love that gale force spin...

Wayne said...

well done Michael...thanks for sharing

Sue said...

Your poem drew me in because it rings true. I liked it.

=)