Horses, Horses, Horses

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IF I'M ALIVE AND WELL, WILL YOU BE THERE HOLDING MY HAND?

for you I would strip
these kid gloves off, finger by
finger, so slowly

showing red-ribbon
scars and scratches quick-torn nails--
how from the tunnel

unhouseling my
self from gravest dirt I clawed
my way back to life

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Awaiting an Entrance--Back to Blogging

FREEWRITING IN WHICH I IMAGINE DEGAS' ACTRESS AS A BOXER

And in this corner, buttoning her gloves, as her attendant fans out the fan of her hemline, our actress prepares her entrance.  Note the peephole, a small moon in the upper left corner; note the absinthe of her dress; note, instead of the boxer's canvas, the threadbare Aubusson with its muted yellows and oranges.

Is she going to be met with applause when she enters, stage right, to become the spotlight's focus?

I love the diagonals, the pastel smears and strokes, the wasp waist of the actress, and especially the bare hand/gloved hand that almost center the drawing.  The sinister first is concealed, as the dexter still fastens.  That arm pose is very mannequin-like.  Is she, like the dropcloth setting she'll soon stand before, only a prop?

I hope she returns to her dressing room, after wild applause and seven curtain calls; I hope she pulls off a glove with her teeth and relaxes in her threadbare Japanese kimono as her face, unadorned by maquillage, glows white as a snowdrop.  I hope there are white roses and lilies wafting their scents for her; I hope there's a carriage waiting in the alley.

I hope she escapes, unscathed, from the withering pens of critics.

I hope we all do.