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Maid of the Dance: poem by Julia B. Griffin

Painting titled "Christ Driving the Money-Changers from the Temple," painting by Domenico Theotokópoulos, known as "El Greco," public domain image.























"Christ Driving the Money-Changers from the Temple," painting by

Domenico Theotokópoulos, known as "El Greco," public domain image




Maid of the Dance 

 

Bracing her basket with one twisting arm

On her plain cap, eyes cast serenely down,

She paces forward in her half-draped gown,

Classical nymph turned servant from the farm.

He swings on one leg; rearing in alarm,

The money changers fall away, grey-brown

Flesh against stone. And yet he doesn’t frown;

But for the whip, his pose suggests no harm,

Just music. Who can hear? Not Peter, lean

Knee bent in awe; none of the lurching throng;

Only this girl, indifferent to the scene

Beside her and round him, still trips along,

Keeping his time to an unearthly score,

Her light feet shining on his father’s floor.














Julia Griffin lives in southeast Georgia. 

She has been published in several online

poetry journals.










July 2024 issue

 

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cmbharris
cmbharris
Sep 06, 2024

This is a lovely poem.

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