Then and now merge with a shimmering understanding of multidimensional time.  Does it matter that you only want to dance?  How is the present sprinkled with mosaics of the past?  Here’s another poem from the 7th year of Postcard Poetry Fest and my first year of participating.

 

Image credit: ebay.uk

Just Over Her Shoulder

 

Dance, you say.

But she cannot remember.

Her barefeet so far away.

Numb lips without words.

 

He never liked to dance,

endured her coaxing

when they were young.

 

Her head is hollow now,

a gourd without rhythm

as he walks a tight rope

without a net.

   Death always whispers

   behind her ear.

 

   C.J. Prince

   ©2013