(the first five of a sequence of 20 10-line poems on this theme)
1.
I wanted to be Anna Pavlova. I read her life,
written for girls like me. My mother took me
to ballet class with all the other little girls
who dreamed. Hopeful rows of us. I was
the one who couldn’t even move her feet
into ‘first position.’ I wasn’t lithe, or
coordinated. It didn’t make sense to me.
My body wanted to go its own way. Perhaps
it was just as well. In the book, I missed
or ignored the bit about her bleeding toes.
2.
My first husband, Don, was a champion
ballroom dancer: shelves of cups and medals!
When he danced with me, it looked as if I could.
I understood when he, just once or twice
every night, partnered someone good.
My second husband, Bill, was like me – hopeless
on the floor. We jumped around with gusto,
getting it wrong and so what? My third, Andrew,
loved to dance. I believe he did it well. But,
unable to share with equal finesse, we just didn’t.
3.
I want it to be flight, I want it to be
soaring, effortless, high into the
air above me, weightless and free.
I want it to happen despite me, despite
my weight, my clumsiness, my body.
If that can’t be, then how about
in the arms of someone who loves me,
whirling to music, in a waltz, like
the stars of ‘The Merry Widow’
and sweet notes of song soaring too?
4.
They say it’s the next best thing
to fornication. That it imitates that
or acts as precursor. But I say,
that’s wrong. I move well in bed,
need no help deciding what to do
next, or where to put anything. It’s
only on the dance floor I get stuck
trying to figure out the moves,
the sequence – let alone the ease
and the flow. (What if I take the lead?)
5.
Birds dance, I’ve seen them.
On my lawn, new magpies
step lively, with a lilt.
Lorikeets attacking the trees
do so with happy jiggling.
And that time when I lived where I
watched eagles, I saw them dance
on long currents of air: swooping,
swirling, gliding. And tiny finches
dance on their toes, skip and hop.
Sharing with Poets and Storytellers United at FridayWritings #216: Just Dance. This is an exercise I came across, and happen to be engaged in at present – just when the P&SU prompt happens, serendipitously, to fit! We're only allowed 369 words for sharing with P&SU, hence I can't post the whole 20 pieces all at once – which is just as well, as I haven't written them all yet. I don't have enough leisure time to do 20 in one day! (Not even 'intensively.') Some of these have now had some tiny edits.
