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Terpsichore

 
I danced.
I danced in obstinate November in falling leaves,
a chaotic swirl of crimson
falling
like confetti or droplets of blood.

I danced,
swirling with the leaves, arms spreading, eyes closing, limbs flying
twirling,
flesh breaking the cold wind vainly attempting to
penetrate me.

Eyes closed, I could not see,
spinning,
I could feel only blood pumping, rushing, and churning—

An unnoticed root
halts my personal whirlwind
The heavy thud resonates in my bones, limbs
collapsing
like a broken child's toy.

I lay there.
Eyes still closed.
Ears strained between the leaves' mocking whisper
and blood's infuriated pounding against my skull.
Flesh relented to the wind, shivering.
I became the earth, accepting the fall.
Winter will make its entrance soon, spreading across the ground like
a tired, angry dancer,
and I would simply have to wait.

 


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All original materials © 2003 R. Pickard