Poetry on the sofa
Poems by Joannie Kervran Stangeland
Poems by Joannie Kervran Stangeland
After the Dance
Plié
Relevé
Rond de Jambe
Adagio
Waltz
Priorities
The Ground Star
An Outside Chance
The Project
In Hoboken, New Jersey
Confessions of a
Pedestrian
Jazz Class
What Music Is
To Dance
The Past I Pass
After the Dance
Plié
Relevé
Rond de Jambe
Adagio
Waltz
Priorities
The Ground Star
An Outside Chance
The Project
In Hoboken, New Jersey
Confessions of a
Pedestrian
Jazz Class
What Music Is
To Dance
The Past I Pass
After the Dance
After the Dance
Priorities
Everyone had a place at the barre, a small home in the room—the view from there unlike any other. With the comfort and privilege of property, the early were rewarded. Like hungry birds, they staked their claims by leaving shoes while they changed into tights and the other attires of study. We respected the bonds between footwear and territory. Then one morning, we saw a cockroach scaling the wall. It was big—as big as—I don’t know, but it was large—the size of a Chihuahua, a Battery Park rat, or maybe a mouse (without the tail). Someone squealed, and I grabbed the first thing at hand—a shoe, a man-sized shoe, and SMACK! It was effective. A bit later, a man walked out and said, Who moved my shoe?
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