by Tchaikovsky
choreography by Isadora Duncan

Here is a call to bear arms, a freedom
to rage. Here three women in orange veils
slam their fists in the air, pound their bare feet
on the bare floor.  Their glossy pony tails
lash wild behind them.  The two young dancers–
sharp soft animals so sure of their youth–
are ready to leap somewhere else, to prance
off the stage, searching for another truth,
The one old dancer in between–her brave
body, arched blue-rooted feet, every line
and finger-flick–holds us all here, alive
in this hard world, this changing flesh, this time.
She knows the discipline of being free.
She comprehends:  there’s nowhere else to be.

~for Patty Smith

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