(Poem by Wendy Howe )
see also the french version

Midnight is the dark stocking
a girl rolls off her leg knowing
the hours ahead will cramp time
into a cold loft she can barely
furnish or afford.

A dancer undresses slowly, careful
not to tear her silk hosiery or the thrill
of an evening's performance.

Placed here against the darkness
of an empty theatre, she clutches
a garment that makes her life
seem beautiful. Clothed in sheer black,
her leg kicked high enough
to sway the stage chandelier, to touch
that crystal sphere igniting
chords of candlelight, their tone
gathering momentum
        from her own, breathless flame.

© 2011, Wendy Howe. E-mail .
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