I used to dance alone in my room I’d spin the spun black under needle And turn till my walls became one I’d stretch my face in strain And mimic pain in movement
I’d measure arms and hands to The waver of the music I cried in concaved chest and Screamed in legs splitting air, Laughed in fingers spreading wide And collapsed to the beat’s final throe
I became a simulated symphony, and So became each dance; My afternoon secret I’d forget words and Mesh into mangled body melody
mmmmmm those hands droning guitar and a distant voice in verse, drumming, drumming
My body curled around each syllable, Both in question and answer
It was pain, yes It was heartache Yes, it was beautiful But I soon realized It was not mine
- c
Translating music into movement and interpreting the artist’s pain