volcano ice dancer.

She is dancer

swaying, moving BRIGHT

burning, energy flowing always through her

Oh, child, you will never slow down or stop or focus

you are a sparkler, flying

crazylittlecurvybutterfly

voice like raw honey and ice

clear, pure, rippling through hallways and doors

smile that cuts straight to the heart and curls up there

dimples wrapping around the strings and playing your mind like you didn’t think it could

inspiration. and then eyes burn into you completely,

icy warm blue, this volcano child stares out at the world below

tangly bracken of hair.

Carl Sandburg – Mask

“FLING your red scarf faster and faster, dancer.
It is summer and the sun loves a million green leaves,
masses of green.
Your red scarf flashes across them calling and a-calling.
The silk and flare of it is a great soprano leading a
chorus
Carried along in a rouse of voices reaching for the heart
of the world.
Your toes are singing to meet the song of your arms:

Let the red scarf go swifter.
Summer and the sun command you.

I found an old notebook and in it was a torn-out piece of paper with these words:

(These are a child’s impressions of a street entertainer.)

the dancer steps forward

Hips whirling frantically

as she turns and twists.

Sweat drips from her dark brow,

her hands extended from her sides,

twisting, reaching.

The men whoop and cheer

their scraggled beards and hair

dusty

their eyes gleam hungrily

as the beer bottles clink and slosh.

The dark hair on their arms

caked with dust

that flies off in little clouds

as they reach greedy fingers at her.

She bites her lip, her eyes

look like they might burst with tears

any second

the grass skirt rustles

twisting, twirling

around her thick, curved legs

bare feet shuffle the dust.