(0.00 / 0 votes)
A mother and son, holding hands at a fair
the glaring sun glinting like stars in their hair
with candy a sticky veneer on their faces
and dull summer days ahead
leaving no traces.
They halt at a theater of Indian dance
where golden waifs leap, their fierce gazes askance
as they survey the crowd for the wild, the tame
but each blank expression
looks wholly the same.
The little boy points out a girl with a mask
black curls whipping up, feet alive with the task
of spinning and twisting to entertain
and to have a true passion
and make one's own name.
Glory, and beauty, and magic converge
in every soft gesture and every last swirl
and then, with the straw of a drink at his lips
he swears to be like her
and takes a few sips.
His mother beside him is still and remote
her slender hands tight on her black leather tote
for there was a time when she practiced all day
to be lovely and graceful
and join the ballet.
But something occurred during many years hence
a loss of her youth, or a jump of a fence
and among her new son, and the stress, and the strain
the pretty pink toes
went a-swirl down the drain.
A firefly flitting across the dim stage
the young dancer pauses a moment to gauge
the number of people that stand in the crowd.
Enough for her dinner?
She pulls down her shroud.
The red curtains swish, the performance is done
a loud, hearty encore from everyone
rings out in the velveteen blanket of night
while maintenance enters
to flick on the lights.
A mother and son, holding hands in the dark
pass through the fair's gates and head on toward the park
each dreaming of separate and faraway places
where dancers can dance
without leaving their traces.
Discuss this Joelle Nanula poem with the community:
Find a translation for this poem in other languages:
Select another language:
- - Select -
- 简体中文 (Chinese - Simplified)
- 繁體中文 (Chinese - Traditional)
- Español (Spanish)
- Esperanto (Esperanto)
- 日本語 (Japanese)
- Português (Portuguese)
- Deutsch (German)
- العربية (Arabic)
- Français (French)
- Русский (Russian)
- ಕನ್ನಡ (Kannada)
- 한국어 (Korean)
- עברית (Hebrew)
- Gaeilge (Irish)
- Українська (Ukrainian)
- اردو (Urdu)
- Magyar (Hungarian)
- मानक हिन्दी (Hindi)
- Indonesia (Indonesian)
- Italiano (Italian)
- தமிழ் (Tamil)
- Türkçe (Turkish)
- తెలుగు (Telugu)
- ภาษาไทย (Thai)
- Tiếng Việt (Vietnamese)
- Čeština (Czech)
- Polski (Polish)
- Bahasa Indonesia (Indonesian)
- Românește (Romanian)
- Nederlands (Dutch)
- Ελληνικά (Greek)
- Latinum (Latin)
- Svenska (Swedish)
- Dansk (Danish)
- Suomi (Finnish)
- فارسی (Persian)
- ייִדיש (Yiddish)
- հայերեն (Armenian)
- Norsk (Norwegian)
- English (English)