Musings on Dancers in Blue by Edger Degas

 (An Ekphrasis)

 

Legs bound into pointed satin shoes stretch out lean, pink muscles.

Morning glory skirts are frozen in mid rustle around the dancers’ thighs.

Eyes scan for flaws, fingers fidget with brown curls.

The orchestra’s dissonant cacophony as it tunes itself

Signals for the anticipation to begin.

Lips long to whisper excitedly but

The four dancers are paused in their routine,

Forever immortalized

In a dusky world of pastel brushstrokes.

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