Matinee Mantra of H.G. Edgar Degas

Matinee Mantra of H.G. Edgar Degas

Every strand of strawberry
         I etch is soft pastels

         effect without form,

         just like the hypnotic pirouettes
which they parade across the Sunday stage.

There is no fire
in this shallow
   shade of red,
just lithe grace -- from a distance.

GRUNTS audible
         only from the front row.
TOIL knowable
         only from the rehearsal.
LOVE possible
         only from the true dancer’s heart.

I sit on the grand brass balcony
and pretend to be the clockwork
hand that guides the dancers.

The choreography of youth -
The fragrance of motion -
The beauty of perfume -

All
s a s h a y i n g to the end
of the frail pink light,
The ballerinas
hide from many eyes.