How to master the air walk dance craze

My mother died seven years ago, but last night
she had a message for me. The mechanics
are irrelevant, what she gave stays with me:
the word: dancing. It makes sense, I always pictured her
released back into a world of pure energy, ecstatic bliss
of oneness with creation. Sorry for the cliché.

Anyway, she’s reminding me of where we come from,
and what we will return to, and this leads
to existential musing, how in an infinite universe
there’s a world in which I didn’t make soup this morning
from homegrown leeks, a world in which I died
long ago, another where I joined in the prayers
at last night’s carol service, felt held and comforted,

felt purpose, meaning. Didn’t question the old words,
“Be fruitful and multiply, and fill the earth and subdue it”—
didn’t hear that and think there must be a chapter missing
from the instruction manual. Excuse me god, we’ve done
what you said, we’ve subdued it like you told us.
And by god we had fun multiplying, thanks for that!
Now—what’s next? And maybe god’s trying to tell us,

but oh! we are so busy these days, and our new friend,
Mammon makes us feel amazing even when we’re bloated,
leaves us ravenous for more. And god tries to get our attention,
huffs smoke signals, turns up thermostats, sends
floods of biblical proportions. But we have shiny
in our hands, nothing’s out of reach, we have the stars
at our fingertips, and look—people are dancing!

A TikTok craze, steps that make it look as though
you’re floating, as if we don’t need the earth
to support us any longer, we can soar to a box-fresh world
with the tech bros and celebrities
when this one’s all used up.
What’s that, god? New instructions?
Nah, you’re alright, we’re busy. We’re dancing.

Rose Lennard writes to uncover truth, to unpick puzzles, to craft unexpected beauty. She believes poetry should be thoughtful as well as bold, and loves exploring the different shapes poems can take. She has been published widely. Instagram @gowildwithrose