Dance
Perhaps it came after the unsteady standing,
those first tottering steps into daddy’s arms;
nursery tunes demanding a physical response,
forcing me to shake and quiver like a wire.
Next a girl understands how boys will watch,
how there are things we can do with our hips
that soon translate to older boys who suck
our lips for every taste of us and our cycles.
But the best dance is a solo led by me alone;
no performance, just a pure out-pouring jig
where I am keys and concerti, bad-ass tunes
that writhe into my skeleton un-choreographed.
I weave, fold into the mix with careful strokes,
then let go in wild indulgent spinning chaos
until I am possessed of spirits from dark earth,
beating out dance steps that no one taught me.
Pat Edwards is a poet, teacher, reviewer and performer from Mid Wales. Her work has appeared in Magma, Prole, Ink Sweat & Tears, Atrium and others. Pat hosts monthly Verbatim poetry open mic nights and curates Welshpool Poetry Festival.