Congratulations to the friend I have always thought of as another sister, who accepted her marriage proposal the day after my marriage.
I am so happy for you. Let sunrise come.
The Firebird
Ballet Russes: Tamara Karsavina, June 1910
By Shara Lessley
first published in The Nation May 22, 2006
Breast
thrust frontward,
her point-work's one-three-two one-two proves
(pride, fear, pleading, might) more
to flight than either feather or
wing.
Everything
about this bird is built for likeness--
beveled tail arched back, she
razes the air about her. Even
the
huntsman burns:
plucking her coxcomb, the fire-dazzled
image singed in his noble
glove. Of bodice, plumage, costume,
crown,
only her
ruin seems human--yes, hers is that
old tale in a nutshell:
the egg contains the soul. Threatened,
her
delicate
honeycombed bones wrench back to divert
the magician king. Love's
ultimate sacrifice! Art,
none-
theless, knows
too the meaning of stillness: so gives
the bird her final pose
as her prince (with his mistress) departs--
though
who, when pressed
to detect on that darkened stage even
the slightest quiver, could
fail to recognize the remark-
able quickness of her caged-in heart?
