THE MAG
The curtain opens, upon empty chairs, and once the music plays, she dances into the darkness of her soul.
The Ballerina's Pointe
Lights once filled this ballroom
each pirouette and every leap
in perfect harmony.
Until this her last pointe
her final bow.
No more tiny steps
both elbows out
her hands claw through the air
as if warding off this
certainty.
She pursues
leading with heel
body tight
tilting from toe to heel and back
she finds
herself tripping
upon this
bleak and barren
Center stage.
Her moves
now of
shifting shadows
as she bows before her last hour
waiting for
Bravo, bravo,
which calls no more.
Thanks for stopping by for
Tess Kincaid's
The Mag
To view other Magpie tales go here.
8 comments:
quite haunting.
Truly!
ALOHA from Honolulu
Comfort Spiral
=^..^= <3
Beautiful poem, very evocative ...!
Nicely done, Karen.
~
Kind of sad, it reminds me of the dancer that brought and restored the old opera hall at Death Valley Junction.
Powerful writing, very nice imagery! Good job Karen. I love the old photo as well, now that's a super old oldie!
Very emotional...I follow her each step...not tiny anymore...at least she knows who she is.....
Oh, like the stepford doll i just watched in Fellinis " Casanova " ...... Loved this
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