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*** Sketching the Ballerina ***

It is well, quite well after midnight. 
My pup lies fagged on the blanket
    as close to me as possible.
The young ballerina sits slightly slumped
On a bench across from the barre, still wearing 
Her  stage costume with its long net skirt.
I am vexed that the sleeping hour has come.
I grieve to leave her. 
She was looking with her black eyes
Directly into my own, asking (as I’m asking myself),
“How can I leave her with a twisted foot?”
The enviable line of the ballerina’s foot, which 
“En pointe”
Completes the geometry of the ballet:
Toes coursing the lines of the legs, 
On diagonals or paralleling the arms
On through to  a pointing fingertip,
With the addition of a superbly angled head.

I grieve having to leave my sketch, to keep
The pretty ballerina in a long-waiting lurch
With her foot twisted, against all her dancer’s instincts;
Against completion of her body line;
Against all her trained and now natural inclinations
Directed to set her preparation
For beginning any elegance in motion;
Add life to the already vibrant music;
Wear her training posture unto every finale’s curtsy
And well deserve the appluse that comes
Along with the roses tossed up 
Around her perfect feet…

 I simply must put the pencil down,
Wondering how soon before her
Tears might fall while she waits for her foot to be drawn
Correctly arched.  The sketch’s error involves
Perhaps a  sixteenth of an inch here and there
With the slightest touch of erasing…It’s 
The additional light of day,
Which altogether should make a portrait worthy
Of showing to St. Peter as he stands by The Gate.

As she displays her weariness to me,
I must beg her pardon, for it’s now nearly 
Three hours past midnight 
And my pillow begs for the lay of my head.
My dismal skills must rest
And wait for my sketchpad 
To be spread over with beams from 
The window’s morning sun.


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(c) sally young eslinger 6/2023
Thanks be to God…
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