AFTER THE DANCE.

A BALLET DANCER IN 19TH CENTURY PARIS IN HER NEED TO SELL HERSELF AS A W***E TO SURVIVE.

After the dance,

what then?

The satisfaction of self

or that of men?

The music has stopped,

the dancers prepare

to go home,

remove clothing,

wash, do hair,

prepare.

If only

the dance was all.

Paid sufficient,

paid enough,

not to have to labour

elsewhere or when.

She has danced

until worn

at feet and legs

and head,

but still to please

the men in bed.

The ballet an art form,

the dance

as old as gods,

but so too,

the bedding

and loving,

and all such things,

that being

all too human brings.

While the music sounds

she's in

some strange heaven,

the dance lifts

and caresses

and loves

and thrills,

but after,

the dullness

of the stillness,

the unapplauding,

the waiting men,

wanting you

in their bed

for sex again,

and then?

Satisfied

and satiated,

they'll turn to their sleep,

wrapped in their dreams,

in their mistress

called slumber,

but the dancer,

the w***e,

what for her ?

after the dance,

what more?

Reviews

[justjenn_2u]

I love this as I wrote a poem coming from the other perspective which is titled "One in a Million." The poem is a dance leaving the reader to wonder why she dances and what does it really leave one with. I enjoyed the fluidity of your word flow. Nice write.

[Terry Collett]

Thank you, jenn

[Frieda P]

Such a vivid story you've woven within your poetry. A bittersweet dance, a lovely poem.

[Terry Collett]

Thank you, Frieda.