The Dancer

A poem.

The Dancer Small flamenco aspirant
no more than six
dances with a surety
that she is what some think
she might become,

– the restaurant patio
her stage, indiscriminate
music from a loudspeaker
her guitars, empty tables
her rapt fans –

tiny hands curling furiously
and exaggerated twists flicker
sweet sparks in an artless fire,
and just like that she skips off,
her mother's voice the final olé.

Elizabeth Mata

You've read  of  free articles. Subscribe to continue.
QR Code to The Dancer
Read this article in
https://www.csmonitor.com/The-Culture/Poetry/2010/1029/The-Dancer
QR Code to Subscription page
Start your subscription today
https://www.csmonitor.com/subscribe