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.
|
|
Bookmark/Search this post with:
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
