We Never Dance
William Doreski has published three critical studies and several collections of poetry. His work has appeared in many print and online journals. He has taught at Emerson College, Goddard College, Boston University, and Keene State College. His most recent book is Stirring the Soup. williamdoreski.blogspot.com
By William Doreski
We never dance anymore.
No patterns emerge between
or among us. Terrible heat
has annealed every rhythm,
spiked every errant muscle.
The climate no longer loves us,
but feints with hurricane and drought.
You and I no longer stand out
from the general slop and grimace.
When we nibble snacks outdoors,
wary of viral contagion,
seated far from other parties,
we feel no impulse to waltz
across the lawn, swaying in tune
with the universal heartbeat.
Long ago we almost quick-stepped
from place to place, distinct enough
to discern each other in crowds.
Now we adhere like blotches
of lichen, immovable but
rife with cosmic ambition
lacking a future to fulfill.
Observing the thick men at work
rebuilding the Main Street bridge,
we admire their ability
to withstand almost a hundred
degrees of August, their sweat
hissing into the shallow river.
The site resembles a movie set
with that sense of controlled chaos
from which great images emerge.
Maybe with music this scene
would seem like the missing dance.
Maybe we could persuade the world
at least for a moment or two
that the imagination applies
even to grim and utile gestures.
Two huge cranes loom overhead.
What if they hooked and raised us
to an immaculate height from which
the town seems merely a texture,
a pattern scratched in the earth?
That’s the slowest, most loving dance,
choreographed from great distance.
Shouldn’t we share it while we can?