All The Flowers

The dancer waits

for the first strumming notes of guitar

to penetrate darkness.

She clings to the moment

before the notes find her

and the lights reveal her.

Her song begins

where the soles of her feet

connect with the floor.

The boards of the aged stage

are cool, dry and textured

like her aged feet.

She savors connection,

aware of the spark ascending

to ignite her body.

Her arms are rising

to question the air

before the first line of the song goes forth.

By writing this poem I am freezing the moment. Because I will it, the first line was never delivered – the message never received. I choose to bask in the moment when all things are possible. Even the question is a mystery – the words never sung. I allow myself to sustain anticipation. I shall rest in the lull I have created for myself. If the performance never happened, it is still to come – or not. As I bask in the moment before the first words of the famous song go  forth, I can believe that the flowers have not gone anywhere – that around me on that stage the flowers still bloom unpicked by the young girls who are wise enough not to go to young men who are brave enough never to have gone for soldiers who are too alive to go to the graveyards. I can believe that the losses have not occured – need not be mourned. I can even believe that the song I eventually sing – when and if I choose to sing – will be quite another song.


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3 Responses to “All The Flowers”

  1. Kendall Says:

    What a wonderful way to think of this, Leif. I love what you have just done. She savors connection. That’s just exactly it. You say it so well.

  2. leiflife Says:

    Thank you, Kendall. It was a miraculous sort of gift: this post which told me I could choose to remain in that moment of connection. Imagine my own thought being more real than experience!

  3. leiflife Says:

    Thank you, “Wuc”, I appreciate your interest and positive response.

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