degas, by charlie brice

How delicate they were:
tutu’s flared like butterfly wings,
in mid-pirouette,
fingers adjusting a strap,
silky, skillful, toes
taut and gliding.

What of that soft female form
entering her bath?
A universe of curve,
the essence of coil,
of swerve,
of arc.

Yet the mind that conceived
each sensual delight,
the eye that envisioned such beauty,
the hands that splashed
image on canvas,
shaped it to clay,

hated an entire people because…
because they shared
the same sky,
the same turf,
a common stage,
the same bathwater.

Charlie Brice is the author of Flashcuts Out of Chaos (2016), Mnemosyne’s Hand (2018), An Accident of Blood (2019), and The Broad Grin of Eternity (forthcoming), all from WordTech Editions. His poetry has been nominated for the Best of Net anthology and twice for a Pushcart Prize and has appeared in The Atlanta Review, The Sunlight Press, Chiron Review, Plainsongs, I-70 Review, Mudfish 12, Anti-Heroin Chic, and elsewhere.

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