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A Boy Watching A Dancer Through A Crack In The Door

Posted by Wild Musette editor on

A Boy Watching A Dancer Through A Crack In The Door

by John Grey

She lifts one leg up to the bar,
the other straight as a broom handle.
While most girls fall apart,
she keeps her stillness.
She’s a painting, that’s how
she achieves her immortality.
She’s a Degas print
long before she or I even knew
there was a Degas.

I am in the wrong place.
The wrong building, The wrong hallway.
And looking through the wrong door.

But the record player arm
wakes the grooves
with violin music.
The ballerina steps
into the melody.
I can feel the whiteness of her bone,
the whisper of her flesh,
the sweep of golden hair.

It’s true… a man can only love
that first time.
Hum that tune now
and no one known to me
could even find their feet.
I live in a strange world these days.
The band plays on
but only fools are dancing.


John Grey is an Australian poet and US resident. He has been published in New Plains ReviewStillwater Review, and Big Muddy Review, with work upcoming in Louisiana ReviewColumbia College Literary Review, and Spoon River Poetry Review.


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