the dance

The Dance'

Just a thought!

I jump no more, my dance card is filled,

Passing memories keep me thrilled.

Clocks on the wall slowly advance,

Marking out time in a four-four dance.

Drips from a faucet are very consistant,

They echo quite loudly, although they are distant.

The wind blows strong, the old house has a creek,

I find myself rocking to keep with the beat.

This timeless concerto repeats everyday...

I'll rock on' tomorrow, till the floor boards give way'

Author's Notes/Comments: 

"The Dance"

becoming me

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her fingers became as the cloth,

and the cloth became 

to the needle,

one stitch, 

two stitch, 

against the thimble,

snugly fitted around the tip of her finger,

and then the lacy neckline,

 resting on the cleavage of my bosom,

shoulders of satin and chiffon 

now held in such strong arms

 reminding me of those 

that lifted me up after so many 

bumps and bruises, cuts and scrapes

healed with hand-me-down stories 

and fancy bandaids,

lots of love and bumpy roads 

to balance the inner raging storms,

as i learned to ride a two-wheeler,

to make my bed,

wash the dishes, and sweep the floors,

plant gardens, drive a car,

and pay rent to keep the roof 

 above this dizzy head,

that twirls in this trance,

and i still wonder sometimes, i the dancer, or the dance?


2:03 PM 7/2/2013 ©



Author's Notes/Comments: 

A poem about what it feels like growing up.In the poem. She is dancing as a grown woman looking back at her mother's hands making the dress and her father's guiding hands as she grew.