To the Violin (1)

Note:  This is the first in a series of six sequential poems by Jack Callan of Norfolk, written upon viewing a television feature highlighting a Spanish woman's dream of becoming a matador, and who has become successful in the Spanish bullring.  Over the next five days, the remaining poems will appear in sequence.

Before the music
the matador dresses
to the violin,
an elegant stretching
to prelude the horns.

This bull has sand
     in his nose
wanting to gore
     and trample (her).

The birds will peck
     at the remains.

You, my dear, must pivot
and follow the horns
past your body
past your soul

the dirt of his nose
is the dirt under your fingernail.

You escape to Spain
breaking your mother's bond

the bull is waiting
   as you float by.

(c)Jack Callan          2010