A well-rehearsed dance,
the waltzing waitress tosses The Times
on table 1 as if she’ll actually finish
the Sunday crossword this morning.
She won’t.

Grease lined lights flicker on one
by one.
Like spotlights on a stage.
It’s show time.

Twostepping while taking down chairs,
she flows to the rhythm of ritual,
across a worn checkered dancefloor.
No applause.

In a dining room of Astaire’s and Rogers
she is the coffee choreographer.  
Pirouetting to the ***,
then a sidestep, quick! Quick!
Slow.

Warming up now, she stretches.
Switching on the metal machinery.
It grinds and growls as if it prefers
decaf.

Rings from rusted bells
hanging from the door chime
to the beat. This is her
cue.

I want to dance until
my feet go sore
my anklets break free
and I faint on the floor.

I want to sing until
I lose all my senses
my lungs tear apart
and my larynx comes to
a screeching halt.

I want to laugh until
tears pour out my eyes
the darkness around me
gets dissolved in my
laughter's floodlights
and all the existing walls
shatter and break
by the sound of my guffaw.

I want to be like that
singing dancing laughing, mad woman
whom we like to stop and watch,
shake our heads in disapproval
and then secretly think –

'I wish I could be crazy like her!'

I showed her what the books meant
While we spent
Countless hours chasing butterflies
Travelling thousands of miles
And she’d quote something
Once in a while
As I struggled
To keep up with the adrenaline rush
Seeing her blush
In the woods along the river
We’d set up camp at night
All I knew was fright
As she held me closer tight
She’d show me the star
And I’d name it right
Every single time
And I’d make a rhyme
To suit her line
When she said something
But I'd lose
When she’d put up a fight
Arm wrestling or jungle trivia
It was her area
In that she’s a star
At par
With the flowers who blossom
In the *****
Of forests
Both thinking
As if they own it
She’s a delight
Like the moonlight
You get to see
After the sun’s long gone
And it’s mad time to be
Adventurous about the things
Human beings
Have forgotten somehow
She dances to the tune
Most ears can’t hear
I just had to bear
A little while with her
And here I am
With my feet in the air
As the rain pours
And I find the choirs
Sung by translucent pearls
It’s been a while now
And I must write another poem
It’s going to be about her
And nature

Wait, aren’t they the same?

As I drove through Vermont
where a ****** only south in Elizabeth
that I would come upon her scenery
and there it made me dream nostalgically

Where she was as divine by candlelight
and we both liked to chat at their In Corner now a pitch so shrill
that adulation was entirely blue,

She dancingly sways,
a tree, grown old,
draped in amber, in gold.

And while the wind wracks,
her skirt holds tight
until she deems fit,
losing her gown to Jack's
choice linens of white.

Now standing,
bare, taut skin,
a woody skeleton.

As I saw you there,
Dancing with her,
I felt as if what was left of my heart
Was ripped out
And smashed into a thousand pieces.

round
dizzy
breezy
sweaty
swirl

blast
roar
thump
beats
gong

the
heart

clasp
sway
kiss
hug
snug

one
and
apart

one
and
apart

they dance around the issue at hand
like two sparrows around a breadcrumb
and unaware of the cracks in their tiny hearts
they shed their fragile feathers, one by one
until neither of them can fly away

Will I be,
A prima ballerina,
Will I get that far,
By 19?
Will the world be my stage,
Will I dance every day,
Will I be strong.
Will my feet be blistered,
From the point shoes?
While the lights from the stage,
Warm my dead soul.

Will I be,

A prima ballerina.