A Look Homeward by Rita Gormley

IT’S A BEAUTIFUL day and dogwood tumbles out of wayside woods in snowy drifts. Car windows are open, a red Mustang zips from beneath a chartreuse willow and the music lilt new and young. Springtime in America and it’s hard to believe in suffering.

No one seems more unconscious of it than the attractive teacher whom we now meet coaxing her fledgling ballerinas, “One and two and three and four. Cross your arms, angels. Bourre9e head up, head up.” Yet she can only be introduced as “‘Terezia” because she still Her movements are graceful as befits a ballerina who has enjoyed the bravos of two continents.

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IT’S A BEAUTIFUL day and dogwood tumbles out of wayside woods in snowy drifts. Car windows are open, a red Mustang zips from beneath a chartreuse willow and the music lilt new and young. Springtime in America and it’s hard to believe in suffering.

No one seems more unconscious of it than the attractive teacher whom we now meet coaxing her fledgling ballerinas, “One and two and three and four. Cross your arms, angels. Bourre9e head up, head up.” Yet she can only be introduced as “‘Terezia” because she still Her movements are graceful as befits a ballerina who has enjoyed the bravos of two continents.