New Year 2008 Poem
DANCE THIS
You have to be barefoot
to do this dance and be a boy
no more than eleven years old. Some
are as awkward as you would expect,
others have the grace of wild
salamanders. And among them
one whose most casual gesture
flattens your heart. In his
scarlet shorts and oversized T-shirt
he has the hands of morning,
the quiet eyes of a god. To
be his sister, the collector
of his tears and gestures. To be his
mother, and feel the earth itself lift
to the horizon with so much
joy. To be the piece of dirty
string he ties around his ankle,
his wish charm, the umbilical
of life’s longing.
- Kona, 2003
Copyright ©2003 Theresa Whitehill, all rights reserved
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