Lida Broadhurst


Yesterday, in response,
I  pirouetted to your car,
poised in arabesque, to catch
your question,
shaped words like arrows,
defining your direction.

Now ballet clarifies life. Legs twist
to broken limbs,
arms thrust in two assaults, tangling
the company in narrow escapes,
glory of  three murders,
relentless leaps to Art.

You go rolling down the hill, leaving
curses for applause.

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