after Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart In the wobbly pirouette between song & dust, dog-nosed living room windows & a purple couch that should have been curbed last July: Saturday sunlight cuts it all every time you lean into some kind of ballet pose. Your belly & knobby elbow & leotarded knee wavering in a slim balance. Jeté, effacé— I don't know what they mean & nod anyway. You reach & spin & dog hair hangs in the air like the start of heartfelt applause. Copyright © 2017 Adrian Matejka. Used with permission of the author. |
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