Which music sits better with me today?
Which surrender is safer,
one that pulls my heart to the treetops
or one that sinks me down and rolls me?
Which part of me needs to be moved today?
What's still and waits to be shaken?
Which pain am I denying
if grittiness rubs me only raw,
or softness numbs me or stings like a lie?
Which magic serves me fairly now: the golden touch? The golem's Shem?
Red fairy shoes to dance me blind, red poppies to send me dreaming?
Music holds the alchemy and the hoodoo,
and I whirl between them, feeding
on sounds as on honey and locusts.
Being the smooth fluid river.
Being the flood, risen and raging.
Being the gravelly riverbed, grinding myself back to earth.
All this to balance tame and wild.
All this to find my body again.
All this to remember to lose my mind.
© Laura Seale, 2014
|Folk dancers in Budapest|
Photo by Wilfredor, from Wikimedia Commons