The dancer said
I wish I had trained in psychotherapy
my feet hurt, they are broken and bent now
it will be a few years yet, but soon I shall not
be able to dance
they will label me past my prime
take away lead roles for younger
tauter, less tarnished versions of me
who do not yet know
the price they shall pay
for their brief freedom
inhabiting the burning stage
I wonder sometimes
was it the applause? That hot
fever in the air, a strange electric impulse
driving us to feel alive? Was it that?
Compelling me to break myself more
until instead of a woman I became
a horse, standing on hind legs for
all to gawk and stare at
the indignity of my blindness
to the spectacle
I undid myself in shards like
a glass breaking in slow motion
never once thinking
of a life beyond the moment
caught in a leap
suspended in air.
…
The psychotherapist watched the dancer
admiring the hours it must have taken to hone
shape, angles, the extension of limbs
muscles, fizzure, perfection enshrined in skin
she contemplated her own wasting body
lost almost to any connection
sat in unnatural position, hour after hour
once a child, able to swing at will from
tall trees, feeling the catch and play of
strong arms and legs, kicking out in ether
how dandelion seeds flew weightless
young trees quickened in a year, surprising
in their raw knuckles insistence on thriving
she remembered being touched as if she were
made of something worth cherishing
how her back would arch like an instrument
begging to be strummed
the longing she still possessed
to hold a woman in her arms
and dance until they both ached
with laughter, with fatigue, with want
for the after play, found beneath
apology, where women keep their
nectar, precious and deep.
…
Somehow the two
like split avocado seed
pushes through wet earth
in two parallel entreaties
came together as ground beckons
lightning and skies burn with molten
need for tierra, striking until found
that source within cumulus clouds and
core both, where dancer and thinker
find solace
in the worn boards
of life, warm from walking
in search
of that we
have inside
all along
A devastating piece, but something about it offers a sense of peaceful balance!
such soulful, and at times, heartbreaking imagery.
Does the world break us, wear us down
Or do we break ourselves against the world
Expend ourselves fleeing
Some trauma, real or feared
Or in pursuit of dreams
Of knowledge
Of membership and acceptance
And what if we see in all that
Of another
Our mirror image
The negative of our self-photo
And join
Life is one long dance … and as Leonard Cohen would say .. “Thanks For The Dance” …
https://youtu.be/bVsYz5rB8Bw
I’m sure you know how this resonates with me. So well expressed.
We are birds of a feather. BTW on a totally unrelated note, just started watching Last Tango In Halifax, UK show, so brilliant, can’t believe I’m so slow on the uptake, where have I been all my life? 😉
and he’s got the right moves for sure in his words – oh how I miss him
Well asked … I think we are broken by the world but we are simultaneously broken by ourselves and the trick is finding something human and lovely within those breaks xo
Thank you so much dearest Annette xo your support of these silly words really means the world to me
Thank you dearling I tried not to get too dark with this one! xo
Yes I do too. .. he has been my muse for 55 years📚😄🌏
Good taste my friend, good taste
Hopefully his mentoring reflects in my writings 😊
Your words are never silly– always beautiful, even when they brutal for a purpose, still beautiful. And you are welcome.
With luck and work, broken as we may be, we become kintsukuroi and mosaics. <3
🙂 We are indeed, Candy. Jackie liked Last Tango in Halifax. I haven’t seen it – or Paris.
I was glad in Last Tango in Halifax that they focused as part of the story on a lesbian woman, although there were some errors in the writing the relationship between the two older characters especially really moved me. Paris you can leave 😉