Lord of the dance,
roll out the sun
and its shine.
Light up the scape
with nervous pastels
furrowing spring breezes.
Let the arias raise
like winged praise
above the seams.
Take our hand,
glide us, lead us,
light on our feet.
Till our dormant hearts.
Water us down to the
tip of our roots.
Guide us to the
updrafts of Your glory,
to float on Your praise.
You are the Lord
of the dance.
Sweep us up.
I remember the back wall
at junior high dances.
The cafeteria cleared of tables
and a disco ball suspended,
catching and pitching light
like baseballs.
Velcro didn’t exist then,
yet something held the boys to
one side of the room,
while the girls talked to
each other across the way.
The floor waited, triple waxed.
We didn’t have enough puberty
to make a collective advance.
But a handful of boys,
some with shadows under
their noses, trickled over
one by one, laying down
rail for the rest of us
and our pseudo hormones
to cross the great divide.
Some of us took a chance,
while others stood staring
afraid the currents would
pull them under along
with their blushing,
freckled, pimpled faces,
accentuated by the
myriad of little spotlights
spinning around the room.
To even touch in public,
although in the somewhat
dark, was like the sun
coming out from under a rock.
And then there was light
shining on our pubescent selves.
The dance began with the sun.
It waltzed with the clouds
and yellow was sent in pirouettes
lightly upon the water.
The wind put its arms around us all
and led us to each other.
*
We saw “together.”
When it was “I do,” they did.
Our hearts had become a river dance.
Tears leapt and rolled with joy.
*
Boys, close to the floor,
jumped and jived.
Young maidens freestyled
and painted the room with brush strokes
and furls of color which spun outward.
Oldlyweds stepped in and out
and renewed their vows,
slow and tight and true.
*
This was a time to heal,
a time to laugh,
a time to embrace,
a time to love,
and a time to dance.
*
For Steve and Shannon Lumetta, who gave us good reason to dance!
Dance, song, laughter,
and tears of frosted glass.
In and through it I remembered.
There was ice water and a straw.
Our only duty was to keep vigil on her lips.
Her mouth would motion us.
Silent smacking and we would reach
for the cool cup.
She would sup and the arid places
were moist for a moment
until the cycle turned.
I remembered when we shared
our tears and held each other’s
in the bowl of our hands.
The salt water reflection
of Joy.
Yesterday I took little sips
through the straw set on my lips.
Thank you for giving me a drink.
The Verve’s first line in Bittersweet Symphony is one that underlined a day of celebration.
“It’s a bittersweet symphony, that’s life.”
I was overwhelmed with the joy of family and friends in celebrating life!
There were moments when I saw the people who were missing though.
The tides continue whether I hear them or not.
God, grant me the grace to keep sipping as the tides come in and out.
Gerald the Writer 