THE WALTZ
He can’t dance, but there is one selection of music that stops his movements whenever the music channel plays it. He calls to me, “Come. Hurry. Listen to this.” And, we listen, sitting down, not dancing, except in our souls or wherever it is that we feel. I buy the CD, Dmitri Shostakovich’s Waltz No.2. I play it on occasion. And again we dance.
swaying, twirling
in three-quarter-time
in perfect step
hearts together or apart
the music plays on
Ribbons
THE RED DRESS
One holiday season I sew up a red dress to wear. It is of fine wool, form fitting in the bodice with a flaring skirt that emphasizes my small waist. The front neckline is high, but the back has a wide deep V, which requires that I wear a strapless bra. Uncomfortable yes, but how else can I shine? And I hope to shine that holiday season more than the lights on any Christmas tree.
night of stars
the street lamp fizzles
and goes out
Presence
SILENT NIGHT, HOLY NIGHT
The EMS attendant in the ambulance keeps asking me questions trying to keep me alert. A feeling of weakness and nearly passing out necessitated this ride on Christmas Eve.
At the hospital, a full emergency room. Very young children in the cubicles on either side of me. They don’t understand what’s going on and cry. I don’t understand either. After a number of tests, an overnight stay connected to a heart monitor.
Christmas dawn–
a pink horizon
comes with the nurse
Vital signs taken and more tests. I’m given a good breakfast and a bad lunch.
eating desert first–
memories of Christmas past
fill the afternoon
I wait for test results, sharing the holiday silence with my husband. Late in the afternoon, a visit from a doctor. No conclusive diagnosis he says. Dehydration or a heart valve problem. He urges follow-up tests in a couple of weeks, to which I agree. He also urges another night in the hospital, to which I don’t agree.
Christmas night
going home on wet streets
flickering thoughts
Presence, 2010
