Dear Ballerina

As a couple, we were just unlucky

in our desires.

That’s why we’re not a couple.


Now your art has you in one world

and me in another.

We orbit each other

but we cannot touch, cannot speak.

No, I can’t even say

how well I think you’re doing.


When I see you,

as I have seen you

so many times,

spin across the bare stage

on the point of your satin feet,

I can either feel dead

or awe.

I often cannot tell the difference.


But, if by chance,

we were to start over,

I would not make you face

your past, the apartment,

the tiny cramped bedroom.

However challenging,

I would discover you anew.



Yes, I’d embrace

the woman and the ballerina –

no, not embrace…encourage –

would never ask you

to climb back down from your compulsions,

to take up the empty seat

beside me in your audience.


by John Grey                                         |                        Featuring art by Alicia Krawchuk   


The etre experience is back.

However, this time it’s unwanted.




John Grey

John Grey is an Australian poet, US resident. Recently published in New Plains Review, South Carolina Review, Gargoyle and Silkworm work upcoming in Big Muddy Review, Cape Rock and Spoon River Poetry Review.