Abba had nothing on my dancing queen –
marshmallow-pink tutu, handmade by me;
a whiz with a machine … in those days.
Her pirouettes and pliés almost brought
the house down; just a make-shift stage
at the local village school.
Yes! Yes! Yes! That Friday evening she was
Margot Fonteyn, completely wowing the crowds
at good old Sadler’s Wells.
The lights came up; she curtsied, waved to me.
I threw her a rose. She pricked her finger. I was
there like a shot. Wiped her eyes – blew her nose.
Too soon, I drove her home – ran her bath,
dried in between her toes and read
the final three pages of Wind in the Willows.
Time for bed, I kissed her, “Night-night,”
and can sense them still – that smell of Lifebuoy,
mixed with candyfloss; and the sound of her words,
“Love you loads. When I’m a grown up, I’d like
to be famous. Oh, and thank you for my tutu,”
frothily displayed on her divan.
Then … she leapt out of bed – grabbed my hand.
Asked, “Would you care to dance, Papa?” as if
she couldn’t bear for the magic to end.
“Mademoiselle, I’d be delighted!” I replied.
So there we were, daughter and me … She,
my Columbine and I, her Harlequin.
But the years flew quickly by and I’d give
everything I had just to dance with her again ...
and go ever so slightly mad.
Comments
jennifer | February 27, 2009 - 19:21
Some lovely use of short lines to break the rhythm:
'I threw her a rose. She pricked her finger. I was
there like a shot. Wiped her eyes – blew her nose.'
Conveys so much in a few simple statements,
very evocative,
J x
MistakenMagic | February 27, 2009 - 19:26
I love the descriptions of the tutu and I agree with Jen, my favourite stanza is definitely the one she quoted ;) Another magical poem Tina!
Magic xxx
Silver Spun Sand | February 27, 2009 - 19:59
Thanks for that, Jennifer. It is a poem dear to my heart and I've still got the tutu and the little pink ballet shoes.
T X
Silver Spun Sand | February 27, 2009 - 20:02
Yep - the tutu was quite something.
My husband spent hours making it. We had just moved to a new house, way back in the seventies and whilst he was whirring away on the sewing machine, I was in the garden digging, and laying new turf. Talk about role reversal. I guess him and me were way before our time:-)
Glad you found it magical, dear Magic.
Tina xxx
Nathan Bednarek | February 27, 2009 - 22:08
I don't really know what to say. The poem speaks out on its own. ;-)
This is what I like to call 'art'.
Well done ;-D
Love, Nathan.
Silver Spun Sand | February 28, 2009 - 09:53
Vissi d’arte - as the late, great Maria Callas would say, or should that be, sing.
Life surely is art in its truest form.
Thank you, Nathan.
Love, Tina x
luigi_pagano | February 28, 2009 - 11:32
A very evocative and nostalgic recollection of a magic moment very skilfully narrated, with your usual distinctive style.
Luigi xxx
Silver Spun Sand | February 28, 2009 - 11:44
Thank you dear, Luigi for your lovely words. More than appreciated.
Tina xxx
threeleafshamrock | March 2, 2009 - 01:16
beautiful poem Tina; feels fresh as the morning dew, well done!
Chris X
Silver Spun Sand | March 2, 2009 - 14:54
Chris, thank you. What lovely words. Mind you, we had thick frost here this morning. Winter seems to be back!
Tina X