ALL RESPONSES |
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Near water’s edge
shimmering with wonder
young Greta
spied the joys of summer solstice:
Upright poses abandoned as
couples leaned and liquefied
into shapeless rippling freedom
a beauteous flow
arousing Greta’s thirst
for the swirling rhythms
and melodies within.
Not quite as she had dreamt,
her own first dance arrived
with season’s turn.
Though handsome and
admired, Peder was
a proper, righteous man
who’d never bend a maiden
in impassioned dips
lest God stood witness
walking there on water
arms outspread
waiting for just one
misstep
over the line
into Damnation.
Peder stiffly marshaled Greta
across the party lawn.
Though wed
with pastor’s blessings
his steps stayed
dry and wooden while
Greta burned
with unspent passion.
Their eyes could never meet
for she’d ignite
consuming him.
And so they shifted weight
one foot to the other
going through the motions.
Born of smothered flames
and fueled by emptiness,
resignation swept away
the years.
Years that failed to sway Peder
beyond his rigid sequence
of ordered moves and postures
before passing
reverently
into night.
Too soon
the hopeful wallflower
glissaded into
widowed despair:
Life, dancing all around her,
not once
had held her yearning
in unrestrained embrace.
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Oh, sure, patting the ass.
That’s the first trick to get her,
if she’s a dumb, innocent Eager,
who’s never been loved before.
She’ll think it’s a sign of affection,
not one-night possession.
She’ll go for him and his hand,
she’ll be sorry in the long run,
but for one night or two she’ll have a great time,
she’ll dance and think the stars shine
just for her and the moon, she won’t
see the darkness on her right or the white
mourning on her left, she’ll
confuse that mourning with a wedding veil
and choose white. Oh, if there were a way
to stop her! But everyone must learn
and maybe--hope springs eternal--
maybe for her the dance will be different. |
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Some of us gaze into our dance
partner’s eyes like others glance
contemplatively at stars, seeking
guidance in our steps, one leading
the other obediently following
each feeling the other’s rhythm
like listening to evening lake waves
or studying bending grass fields,
others awaiting turns patiently
like sitting early in a quiet church
hoping within ourselves to somehow
learn what shape God really is
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If there only was a way
to dance with more than one.
There is only room for her
as others wait to take their turn.
She waits for them to stop,
wants to break them now,
but sees adoration in her eyes
and pauses to consider.
If there only was a way
in this world of rules,
of vows and sorrow
to be both here and there.
We would waltz away the pain,
drink the gin of dreams,
make love with words
and fly between our unseen worlds.
Her decision made, she turns,
the music never stops.
His eyes follow as she leaves
and the dance of life.... goes on.
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We dance together into the sea,
my dress swelling in waves,
your tux wet to your knees.
This same water that moves me,
also moves you. Time runs under our feet,
sand rippling muscles between our toes.
Tonight, the sky is renamed.
Waves turn inside out, be still
as the land trembles, shifts,
mountains collapsing in great sighs.
Holding us as if in its palm,
a body of quiet weaves
smooth fingers around us,
and we swim in love
alone in the dance together.
But love’s such a fickle thing,
a dark child with haunted eyes,
a suicide waiting to happen.
By morning, we will argue and
I’ll drive away, the rising sun
chasing after me through trees,
my tires whapping wet pavement,
speaking only the language of leaving.
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it’s your life now, hold it close—
like an infinite number your life
extends like moon rays, like strands
of music listened to and remembered—
you were given life & visitors
came: teachers, sisters, neighbors,
men in books, even Ophelia—
you recognized her before
she died; she caused you
tears on a stairway—
they have all watched
you grow, given you advice
concerning geometry, red
licorice & white panty love
your hand now rests on his shoulder,
your red dress moves between
black & white—
it doesn’t matter what you wear
the only moment that matters
is now: you are heir
to your womanhood, spill
yourself onto the floor, move
your feet to his rhythm,
celebrate for the rest of your life
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In a room where furniture is strategically removed, people
stand in various shades of light. Clusters of conversation sprout;
words take root and begin to spread out under the carpet.
She yells your jaw bone is beautiful to the man standing
to her left, but he can’t hear because it’s only in her head.
When will the voice move from her throat instead of her mind?
Sometimes there are people who make you breathe.
Other times you prefer to eat lemons, one
after another, until your tongue bleeds.
In the another room, on the floor, a serving spoon;
no one can recall who dropped it. No one eats
from the bowl full of red berries.
The musician plays his guitar. He understands ocean tides
and sees himself as the moon. Your experience is determined
by what you believe, so a girl moves closer.
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Could it simply be chance that has placed us together
Is it only the passing of time that draws your arms around me
If chance is all it is, what would our purpose be
If time is all we have, inevitably we will end
You and I, we chose each other as past lovers gazed upon us
Elegant, parading false perfection or beauty, deceiving and wild
Longing not simply for just the chance of a moment with you or I
But for the Divinely chosen union of grace and adoration
The unquenchable lock of our eyes has defeated each past
For it is who I am today, clothed in the scarlet linens of yesterday
That you accepted in a world full of dancers more elegant than I
To fill your arms and days in this dance when we chose each other
We don’t love by chance;
Rather we make room
For ones we choose to love.
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We could be laughing right now, or dancing
by the pastel sea. Even now there's time.
There's still music in the queue,
and sunset's yet to paint its last dark strokes.
And yet we do not laugh or dance or toy
with witless hearts of love-struck man-boys --
Far better for now to sulk, mime despair, become
outlines filled by a mad child's hand. We stand
bookend to desire of others entangled
in unskeining night, hostage to the
mad logic of illusory love; this
does not become you, my love. Dance for us.
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Seek not in me the big I capital
Nor yet the little dotted in me seek...
Robert Frost
Dancers waltz
into shared illusion
we
each complicit
blind to the moon
on water
calling us back
to the only place
we can live.
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