I Would Dance If I Could

 

I Would Dance If I Could

(“Lame men and women will leap like deer, the voiceless break into song. Springs of water will burst out in the wilderness, streams flow in the desert.” Isaiah 35:6 [The Message])

I would dance if I could
(just a reminder to my friends and former peers:
I once moved across the floor like lightning,
sang till my throat was dry).
I would be a dervish if the offer arrived in the mail.

I suppose I will one day again
when I reach the lighter home within,
but now it all stays dense like granite,
matter in solid form keeps slap happy words
from making a dent.

And I’ll tell you plainly why: people I depended on,
who wore my same uniform,
whose feet I once washed, whose children I once hugged,
make potions in their laboratories that make feet stick
in the mud. Sinking sand and nail-scarred hands cannot
share the same mansion.

Nowadays the ones I see dancing scare me to death,
the ones singing songs in broad daylight and spreading spit
and virus
over the enraptured audience
make me shiver. I’m back to singing
Carole King songs again.

The rivers of life I once waded in
are dammed up at their source. The pipes
have broken, the cause unspoken but suspected,
they burst heavy with silt at the seams.

As mirky as my mind is, as cloudy as my heart,
I still await the showers that open poppies and
make the sunflowers peek from the sides of the road.

As achy as my knees are, as arid as my throat,
I still await the ballads that repeat mercy and
make the sun-children speak from the joy of the Lord.