Poem: A Better Dancer

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A Better Dancer

You are not yourself this morning.
All the same pieces are there,
but somehow rearranging themselves in time and space,
nothing quite meshing with the other,
a strange mental puzzle, incomplete, and too early
to know if all the pieces are even available.

You are not yourself this morning.
You want something more, something predictable,
something done, not flailing in the wind like some tattered flag
on the field of a battle you never chose,
unprepared and waiting for the charge,
the tension of defeat in the wind.

You are not yourself this morning,
your normal state
in a world where most of what was certain
no longer is, It has left you unprepared,
yet better able to dance when the bullets fly,
and so perhaps you are indeed yourself, but
simply a better dancer.

About this poem

Nothing this week has been settled or routine. It caught up with me this morning, as the line that kept rattling in my mind was the first line of the poem, until I realized that actually, that lack of routine has become my routine.

Tippity tap. Tippity tap.


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