Silver – stanza 25.2

“Allison Walker,” Malinov said aloud, trying
The sound as though it might reveal her presence
But Silver wouldn’t have selected a vessel
Because of the name, or would she, he wondered
The reasons Silver had were her own, and they
Were never wrong, not in his experience, once
She was truly Silver again, this past year
Some simple woman found herself prodded
By right decisions and barely audible voice
Speaking nothing but wisdom, was it she?
The handbill held the hallmarks, a woman
Almost past her dancing prime suddenly
Attracts the attention of the dancing elite
They said nothing in Allison’s background
While replete with training and practice
Really explained her skill and familiarity
With techniques from every era of ballet
A living museum of a forgotten past
Unrecorded, passed from teacher to student
In long lines that never intersected Allison
But the exaggerated praise of a few art patrons
Hardly constituted proof of anything
Malinov needed ocular proof, the recital
Would reveal everything, but looking
At her name listed alongside mine, he
Knew that Silver had chosen this vessel
And reunited, they would take off together
Which frightened me, because I love Allison
And which frightened me because Malinov died

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About Lord Malinov

Lord Malinov, literary author, bon vivant, rogue romantic poet
This entry was posted in books, fiction, literature, novels, personal, poetry, writing. Bookmark the permalink.

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