If It’s the Last Thing
Practice makes purpose,
makes for purple-blue
hydrangean bruises from
what you keep pressing
into, against. An hour is
a tent we rent from ourselves.
A lab in the basement, a forge,
a foundry. Where are the stairs,
I can find them with my feet.
The ballroom is marked up
with dotted lines, arrows,
soles of shoes to show me
where to go. As if in looking
down, we are looking up
through the floor of another
ballroom, and seeing only
the feet of the dancers there.
Press your feet against theirs,
for they are learning, too.
Step, step, rock step. I am
going to learn me some joy
if it’s the last thing I ever do.
You've done it again, Hannah. You've eked a memory out of me. Thank you.
ReplyDelete"I am / going to learn me some joy / if it’s the last thing I ever do."
ReplyDeletei love the irony in this. we can throw ourselves into the pursuit of joy with such a grim-lipped determination, proud of our bruises ...
our world has made such a confusion between joy and pleasure...
"An hour is a tent we rent from ourselves." Yes, time is merely on loan to us. Love what you've captured here.
ReplyDeleteLove this whole thing and its hard dedication to joy, and particularly love the "hydrangean bruises."
ReplyDelete"makes for purple-blue
ReplyDeletehydrangean bruises"
Impressive!
This one resonated so strongly with me. This is what is going on inside of me right now, as I fight, mostly against myself, and all the built-in restrictions that operate on automatic, for myself.
ReplyDelete(I am going to see if I am on a comment-posting roll now...)