Dance Floored

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.

It Was A Time.

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!

Sips Through A Straw

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.