by Jacqueline Coleman-Fried
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| George Balanchine with, Mourka, his cat. Photo by Martha Swope (1964). NYPL Digital Collections, Image ID: 5120841 |
Police behind riot shields beat protesters facing Europe,
robed in Georgian flags, calling for new elections.
Sometimes Russia moves with planes and tanks.
Sometimes it strangles slowly, so no one notices.
Cat floats around my home like a ballet dancer
waving her curved plume tail, padding on velvet paws.perfume,
Sinking on velvet paws, she pliés
before jumping, leaping.
Choreographer Balanchine used to throw his cat
in the air and photograph her on the way down.
Threw his cat in the air to watch her gymnastic grace.
Taught his dancers to move like that.
Taught them, too, the perfume of Russian ballet.
Though his real name, Balanchivadze, was Georgian.
Jacqueline Coleman-Fried is a poet who lives in Tuckahoe, NY. Her work has appeared in The New Verse News, Nixes Mate Review, Streelight Magazine, Witcraft, and The Orchard Poetry Journal.
