There Comes a Puppet to Dance

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
To strain towards an understanding of what we have not experienced produces in our minds eye only puppets ...at best

Submitted: February 05, 2017

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Submitted: February 05, 2017

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There comes a puppet to dance

Some hand I have somewhere moves her

Some thought I cannot keep away makes her come

 

Out of a trunk some hand has pulled her

From above now she dangles with the others

Like muffled wind chimes

 

I try to move her so that I can understand

The things I have heard of her life

Wearily she dances that time

 

She breaks my heart with her smallest gesture

Yet her gestures begin to pour

As the others descend to join her

 

Making my own sadness a puppet coming to dance

Strings pulling me to gesture

To dance the story a stitched mouth cannot speak

 

There comes a puppet that died in a chamber

She cannot dance that horror

But instead dances how once she baked bread

 

There comes a puppet that died in the fields

He shields my eyes with his dance

A stooping dance that shows a life of sowing

 

There comes a puppet that cut her own strings

The dance where hands can strum no more

I hear her speak what no longer she sings

 

“They have stopped our lives

But they have not and cannot erase them

We have baked

We have sown

We have played to your ears

If a pencil that falls accidently to the floor

Creates a sound wave that does not cease

Surely this body has given more dancing purposefully

through a life

Surely will ceaselessly be the echoes of that dance” 


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