While working on a piece for the upcoming Altered Book Project performance about sisters, these thoughts bubbled to the surface.
When I am gone
No epitaph for me.
Instead, give me a little dance in your garden
With the pumpkins, spiders, and rabbits watching.
A jig on the stone steps of the church,
In your favorite chair with your socks off,
On a mountain top with the wind blowing,
Near the banks of the Missouri.
Pound the earth with feet and hands
Under the live oaks in Mobile,
The Trail of Tears in Arkansas,
And on the graves of your mothers.
When I am gone,
No epitaphs for me.
If you can’t dance
Swing up high, jump, and fly.
3 thoughts on “My Spirit Is Dance”
If you go before me, which I strongly doubt, I will do a dance for you, Lynn. Probably in a chair in my backyard with my bare feet on our Mother Earth. Loved your poem and photos.
Sounds like a celebration I want to attend. I’ll try and be there.
Love it, Lynn. I can believe you would be.