A Beautiful and A Bitter Shroud

When I was little, I found a magic box,
tucked under the eaves where
we were told not to go.
Something compelling about the
forbidden, triangular space,
sealed off by lath and plaster,
made me resolved, beyond curious.
I kicked and pulled until plaster shattered
and wood cracked, delightfully.
The large box was filled
with silk, organza and tulle,
the proud-worn gowns
of my mother's college days.
At those ***** she danced
in them, hair coiled up
and earrings sparkling.
It was not about the men, I knew,
but her need to be admired.
I don't recall a punishment
for opening the box
but she relented and allowed
my sister and I to put on
her finery and pretend.
We wrapped them round us
and twirled to imaginary waltzes,
stepping on long hems so many times
that  the gowns all came undone.
The rags were put away
and the room sealed up.
In my youth I recall but a few
times Mother gave in
and let us be children
or fairy princesses for a while.
Now she is old and finally
trying to wrap me in her shroud,
to make resentment drag me down
and envy of me, crippled with self-hate.
But that no longer works
and I tell her, finally grown
that this is not allowed.
I summon up pity and vague sympathy,
even if love left long ago.
I tell myself that
everyone dies alone.

I'm tired of dancing
on your whims,
You are showing colours
like an authoritarian government

i watched the brightest star in the sky through my melancholy filled eyes
i think i saw your silhouette dancing in the brisk winter air
my pupils became satellites
and if i wasn’t so petrified i woulda cried
but it isn’t on me
and i cry in secrecy

i think i saw you pirouette by the dwindling shine of the star
but that’s just a thought of mine
i thought i’d bring to mind

golden threads this autumn bears
waves of thin despair at your iron door
Show Time, says Fosse, heart on the floor
when sunlit window gently flares

a crispy wind, a frivolous sunrise
oh, dance along, your fragile neck so white
Show Time, says Fosse, aglow with light
please, dance with me, and look into my eyes

golden threads this autumn bears
in every leaf, in every grain of dust
Show Time, says Fosse, it's my final lust
melancholy's dripping venom deadly glares.

"Autunno, se vuoi cogliere la frutta della mia anima, ti prego di non esaurire ancora il sole, il filo d'oro della vita, il filo d'oro della danza." - Gianluca Masi, known as the Dancing Alchemist, Firenze, the second half of the XVI-th century

see us dancing
the moment I hear
any upbeat melody

My thoughts dance with you
Before I sleep
I'd rather they trip
On tired feet
Into the sound and deep

But before I sleep

Through closed eyes
You float and sway
In a faultless waltz
With my traitorous thoughts
Across the unknit strings
Of my coming dreams

Before I sleep

And I can't gather my thoughts
To look away
Because you stole them
For a dance so beautiful
I may never get the chance
To be alone with my thoughts again
Before I sleep.