You Asked Me To Dance

1

dancers
A white butterfly –

You – have come home to dance
on my shoulder – high above daisies
to spin in circles
casting our shadows on a pond
a rendezvous of seasons, and
a landscape covered in snow.

You fooled me.

Your sister’s, sister?
No one noticed when she fell
through ice.

A white picket fence keeps
me away.

I feel your wings.
You flutter toward the barn
passing the statue of the
Blessed Virgin Mary.

We dash to skip over holes
in the floor of the barn.
You grab my hand
we skip over light; reflections
on a wide plank floor.

We pass a broken lantern –
red glass shimmers,
and Grandmother’s wedding dress
hanging near our homemade stage.

You grab my hand, and together
we run to the hillside –
we roll into a ball and tumble
“head over heals,” Grandmother said
on over grown grass.

We roll over clover and our toes tangle
in weeds,
we roll near apples left beneath the apple
tree.

In winter,
I hear you laugh –
your tears roll down your face
you’re laughing so hard
you bend to catch your breath.

Your chin captures yellow of a butter cup,
and again – the wings of a white butterfly
leads me to the white picket fence.
The slope disappears.

The apple tree, a twig.
And your face
appears in murky water.
Your laughter still surrounds me.

A stone is tossed,  and circles swirl over,
and over.

My eyes close as if captured by the
swirling water,
and you were gone.

Forgive me.

A yellow eye – inside a white daisy
asked me to dance.

We are leaping across summer grass
near tall weeds and wild flowers.
A dance ends – so,
I snap your stem to take you home.

1 Comment
  1. Anonymous says

    Sad, scary and beautiful all at the same time.

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