For An Old Love - Jill Clayburgh (1944 - 2010) Poem by Keith Shorrocks Johnson

Hey Jill, I still love you gal – dance again!
I used to joke about my ballet career
And splitting my tights with the Junior Kirov,
On my pas de deux debut in Omsk -

But we never met and my lifts are dodgy
Though an entrechat might have easily disappeared
Between your broken smile and mine,
Entre chats with a coffee and bagel.

Few watch now as you swan Odette
And, as a clod with encroaching klutz
My dancing days are curtain-called
By a sore spot on my right foot.

You were born in April, I in June
Under Von Rundstedt’s spell -
And as the children of Operation Overlord
I could have spun a line to be your Siegfried.

You could have swooned or swanned -
Thighs caressed by the dark webs,
Held in my arms or wings
Quivering to the feathered glory.

Or then again, we could have walked and laughed
And watched the ducks in Central Park
And you could have sashayed your curls
And tippy-toed a deux or quatre avec moi.