Fallen Swan

Like an apple on toothpicks,
the elderly ballerina
tiptoes across the yard.

Finding the pond,
she asks
the dark waters
for their old reflections.

Like a duck,
she submerges her head,
draining away
the makeup
and the years.

Emerging as swan,
she swims the shadows—
Echappe, pas ballonne, glissade.

Remembering
across the years,
across the algean floor,
freeing dreams
of Barishnikov.

Advertisements

9 thoughts on “Fallen Swan

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s