You say you don’t dance
You say you gotta learn
Ah baby come take my hands
Won’t you give me a turn
Spin me out, skirt a’swirling
Then bring me in real close
I like everyone when I’m dancing
But I’d like you the most.
I wrote so many pages in my regular journal while I was at Mariposa. I hardly used my phone and I talked to more people than I can recall. We talked and shared stories and almost never connected on social media. We just moved along with our weekends. I like it.
I also saw friends and acquaintances and hugged some favourite people. I kind of miss Mariposa.
I only just got home Monday evening and since then I went to Merry Wives of Windsor in Stratford one night and I’m working a concert at my home theatre tonight. Tomorrow is movie night with friends and then it’s Kultun festival and then swing dancing in Hamilton on Sunday. How even if this my life.
At the market the bike lane advocates have
set up a booth to encourage urban cycling and
they're giving away silver bells (I got one).
The marketplace din is punctuated
by the bright ding ding of bike bells.
Strawberries are in season!
And the egg lady is smiling and
the fair trade coffee in my travel mug
is finally the perfect temperature.
Sipping the coffee I absorb the colours and sounds
in small doses. Or try to.
I never got the hang of microdosing.
Fuck it! Suck it all in, breathe every scent, sweet and foul
trip on the greens of kale, berries red, golden honey!
Every human here is shining and beautiful
and I love them all it almost hurts but
I keep loving them even that one stealing
a ripe strawberry and yes even that one
scowling at the child with the bike bell.
That one month (it was September)
our hearts looked squarely at each other
Mine cried out Yes! and clapped its hands
And yours tried to think of a kind way
to excuse itself.
This little rabbit
Has a terrible habit
Of picking his nose and flinging it.
This little heron
Was never preparing
Preferring instead on winging it.
Yesterday I compared you to the Sea and you protested
but the Sea is moody with turbulent depths fed by drowned sorrows.
I sit staring at the Sea, trying and trying to love it enough.
Today I sat by the Sea and wrote a poem about your smile –
how it leaps unexpectedly to your face, radiating an innocent joy
and how, when it appears through something I’ve said or done,
I’m humbled, and feel weak.
I never want to settle. I want to live a tidal life, giving in to the push and pull, slowly waxing and waning, always transitioning from one state of beauty to the next.