There Were Children Dancing
(“So God will choose the one to whom he
decides to show mercy; his choice does not depend on what people want or try to
do.” Romans 9:16)
I listened to the laughter coming from the next room;
there were children dancing to a whirling tune
I did not know and could not repeat. They circled
each other and leaped up and down. It was on a
stormy day with winds roaring from the east; foothills
to the coast, and the rain splattered the windows like
tiny balloons thrown by fairies.
It was rarely this easy. But today their feet moved
together, their giggles were not disruptive, and their
words were improvised along with their song.
There was something vital in that moment, there was
untitled poetry at play. It came from within them,
it came from without. It came from planets above,
it came from the earth below. It crept in through the doorway,
it circled room after room until, soon enough,
the laughter gave way to lavender exhaustion.
Not a breath was wasted, every movement was intentional,
every word was invented, not a syllable fell pasted to the floor.
They floated like dandelions, they tossed themselves like
pillows in the air. They sounded like cherubs, they looked like
an hour in a day without care. They slipped in their favorite
colors and poked around the edges of prayer.
No one planned it, no one invited the parties;
it was all the children knew to do with their spare time,
it was everything they had waited for since morning had dawned.
And all the adults learned laughter halfway through the dance.
Next time maybe they would lead it, maybe they would leave it
all to chance.