Something New & Her Metaphor, poems by Frances LeMoine

Something New

This is new.
Like the first time
lightning
struck her toe.

Like the first time
she rescued someone
from a searing ocean.

Like the first time
she saw the scorched birds
fall from a charred sky.

Her Metaphor

Her metaphor
is the block of marble,
the castle there,
in quicksand,
that tides erase.

Half-crabs,
busted shells,
sharp.
Chipped marble,
a little here,
a little there.

Cha-cha.
Tango.
Mambo.
Rumba.
Waltz?

The metaphor
is dance.
Dance
is the metaphor
where
you must feel your weight,
know its curves
its shifting
before you know
where it fits.

If it fits.

A marble dance.


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