A Woman’s Dance

Dance, Matisse once said, meant ‘life and rhythm’

He said ‘Dance is life and rhythm’

My life is a circle

Like a swollen belly

That rises and falls

Throughout my cycle

Undulating like dancing crabs

Rhythmically weaving across

The sand

Pincers clamping


Reaching out to grab

My body


Free-flowing and red

Like blood from Eve that flowed down to me

Passed round to my

Daughters who

Dance weightlessly


Through a period of time

Where they spurt the earthy

Terracotta liquid rioja

Like a deep, dark wine

Until the cycle

Turns rhythmically


And ceases to return

As tender breasts sway

Together and

The flooded river dries

Though the torrent still rages

Inside and the ripples


Leaving woman

Like virgin

Feeling immaculate


In a secret

Cycle imposed eternally

By the dance


Joanna Wyndham Ward

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