Saturday, January 15, 2011

Dance With Me

The myth of family becomes so pronounced in late November into January.  The vision all Normal Rockwell.  A vision that hardly matches my own.  My family truth is a faint sheen of dust.  It can't be wiped away, but that it will settle back into place again.  

If the dust cannot be removed then maybe I can learn to dance barefoot through it.  Kicking up motes into the light where it floats around me.  Whispered words of old stories I no longer believe.  Dust of dead memories made beautiful swirling there among the sunlight and barefeet.  

And when I go, the only evidence to future eyes of my having been here will be the Arthur Murray dance steps left on the dusty floor.

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