Untitled…

She sits , becalmed,

at first roll call.

One of expectant

recruits moored on hard stools.

 

“Ah, you have a dancer’s name!”

pronounces the teacher.

Her blood courses,

repeats,

“we’ll see…we’ll see”

steady laps on the shores

of possibility.

“There are many ways to dance.

Your purpose is to find the right

one for you.”

The teacher pauses

hands gently grasped,

sweeps beacon eyes

over a pulsing, breathing

eager flotilla -

first year dance students.

This koan, a bright beam to

summon while

the shoals of self-doubt

threaten a dancer’s purpose.

 

Her parents want

her to forget her need

to flow, surge, strain

to unite like water to shore,

bone, muscle and brain.

Yes, her Dad once said

in a fit of sarcasm

she could waltz about waiting

on tables, slinging hash, or

do a stately gavotte with a mop.

Mom weighed in with

the worst option.

“What if you end up a stripper?”

Memories like these need

bailing out like so much

nasty bilge water.

 

Isn’t a maiden voyage

meant to be a journey of

adventure, mishap, and surprise?

And, maybe disappointment?

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2 Responses to “Untitled…”

  1. bronxboy55 Says:

    “…sweeps beacon eyes over a pulsing, breathing eager flotilla…”

    Wonderful writing. I hope you find your way to dance.

  2. susieshy45 Says:

    I liked this one “There are many ways to dance.

    Your purpose is to find the right

    one for you.”
    Thank you for this poem.

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