by J.J.Morgan

Created on: April 09, 2009

Prima Ballerina

Cool glide of satin
on glistening, scuffed floor;
you hold the dreams we dance to.
Rachmaninoff's rhapsody in
twilight: bent leg, arched
back, hearts soar
past this dusty room
where girls weep
when Madame speaks
You do not have what it takes to

Dance

The prima ballerina's breathless
poise beneath blue phantom
lights on center stage,
feet fluttering to swells
of symphonic rage. An audience
gasps, dizzy, whirling white,
arcing vision in grand jete en avant,
gracing the palm of a god's hand.
In love with the

Dance

to the tap, tap, tap of Madame's
cane, impatient now and striking
scuffed floor, splintering
dreams in demi-plie.
Rhapsody pirouettes
around fragile hope,
girls weep sur la pointe.
You do not have what it takes to

dance.

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