poem written based upon this image: pinterest.com/pin/56787645305659471
Poem submitted to “1499 Sept. Pt. 2” poetry contest, Brian Strand, sponsor, September 7, 2026
She rises from bronze-soft wire, a sepia silhouette spun from roses and quiet rhythms, her tutu stitched with petal-notes that q u i v e r when she breathes. Balanced on a bar of music, she leans into the lift of lyric, letting each note u n f u r l like warm wind from a hidden harp. The page beneath her pulses~ a paper stage where sound becomes softened gravity. I watch her ballet through stillness, her wire limbs c u r v i n g with a grace that feels borrowed from some gentle cosmos where dancers drift and melody makes the air move. Her roses r u s t l e lightly, as if remembering the garden they once belonged to~ as if each petal keeps a quiet chord of longing. When the notes finally rise from her feet s p i r a l i n g, and s h i m m e r i n g, lifting like lanterns into the sepia sky~ I feel the faintest f l u t t e r in my own ribs. She’s a reminder that even a figure fashioned from wire and wilted roses can teach the body how to bend toward beauty, how to listen for the music that moves us, how to dance on the fragile page of whatever comes next.
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