On the Way to Iraq Everywhere There Is Dancing

ON THE WAY TO IRAQ
EVERYWHERE THERE IS DANCING

We are mistaken,
mis-hear what appears
to be music. Without
credible cadence
perhaps it is desire
tapping us to attention.

It beckons and yet
the floor is vacant,
dancers wait against mirrored walls,
become one in held breaths;
heads bend over ribboned cards.

The bandleader enters.
We exhale.

It is not quite music.

He raises a baton, but not
a baton. There is no band.
The stick is aimed, fired and rings
out with a thunder at once familiar.

We smile and
in a crinkling rush
of taffeta and silk ,
we choose partners,
fill our dance cards,
hurry onto the ballroom floor
and step easily to the quadrille
as if yesterday had never passed.

Everywhere there is dancing.


Sunny Solomon

Posted over on The Pedestal Magazine