Isadora Duncan.
Pioneer of Modern Dance.
Survivor of an impoverished childhood.
A bohemian, feminist, Darwinist, communist,
an advocate of free love with two children born out of wedlock.
She loved her oversized red scarf,
danced with it,
tossed it over her shoulders,
let it trail behind her like a banner of courage
for a woman heralding change.
She wore it while learning to drive a sporty convertible.
It swirled about her neck in the open car
as she sped along the Promenade des Anglais
in the backseat watching
after the chauffeur gunned the engine,
that mascot billowing above and beside her,
larger than life
with breath of its own,
a backdrop to her brown hair, brown eyes,
and trail-blazing determination.
At age 50,
her two young children buried,
her ex-husband dead by his own hand,
that signature scarf rose and fell
in a final gesture as shocking as Duncan’s choices,
as shocking as her leap to free dance,
snaking around the wheel,
breaking her neck,
sealing the legend.
