by Barb Ariel Cohen
The uncomfortable world waiting
Beneath my breastbone, held
Like stale breath, while the truth is this:
A world blooms dancing at my every glance
The old captivities die hard
Resist yielding, lace themselves into
My tight-fisted hands with cloying insistence
Hoard tears behind my eyes like coveted stock
Such brittle contrasts tight about each other
Coldness seeps in to dash what hopes remain
Yet fires flame in every leaf of fall-bedecked trees
Asking me why I fear, wondering why I would ever
Do anything but dance.
Category: Poetry