Alphabet City

From above one could see that the wires were old
and her fall would potentially be
quite a serious one, at least we first thought

Until that day she fluttered and fell, simply slipped right out of the sky
rode updrafts for a while before crashing down
when all the world was essentially right

But did you see the way she sprung back? She sprung up!
Her back hit the ground for nary a moment, then she arched, she bounced
up onto the soles of her feet, stomped once and levitated, I swear . . .

Some say just tango on and so she did dancing across the room
her body in tight lithe lines, defiant neckline swept to long driving legs
arms outstretched grasping for fingers to touch to feel opposing pressure

There is a moment at the end of the dance when the dancer transitions from a state of grace
to clearly being after – no longer of – the dance, a place of repose
where she’s able to see the dancers in retrospect, the steps no longer before her

A spin dies, loses momentum till the point upon which the spin depended
gives way and collapses the spinner, now spent but dizzy, happy to feel
the cold ice against her cheek, upon gloved hands she rises quickly before her skin sticks

One
(two-three-four)

Tango on

© Chagall 2014

There are those who play on emotions
with sharpened cleats

What say we eject them
from the game?

Or better yet,
why don’t they take their balls
and go home?

© Chagall 2014