Dancing in the Rain

I danced in the rain
though I knew I’d get wet
and it would take eons for my clothes to dry--
I danced anyway.

I danced
as the clouds erupted
into waterfalls of fury,
like melted glaciers in the sky,
or wicked witches of Oz.

I danced because I could,
because I would.

I danced to defy nature’s wrath
to create rain worthy of gods.

I danced because I felt like dancing,
because moping would do me no good.

I danced to celebrate the rain,
to cleanse myself with it
like Bathsheba in David’s yard.

I danced to expunge myself – to become one with the rain,
like a fairy in a flower just blooming.

I danced to dance,
because my soul danced.

I danced
because soon enough,
the rain began to dance--
it started with one drop and then another,
I heard reggae.

I caught my reflection in a puddle,
just dancing,
dancing.

I caught the rain in a puddle,
just dancing,
dancing.

I danced--
just me and the rain.

Dancing to Bug Juice

The clown dances
to the stormy rhythm
of Zeus’ heartbeat

fierce, erratic, frantic

not daring to stop—
lest a single wooden step is missed
and tumbles doth she,
down the marble staircase
of cracked skulls
where laughter resonates
nowhere
but in Herra’s thorny throat,
cackling in delight
over one more miserable wretch
crushed to bug-juice:

splat!

I Don’t Feel Like Selling My Soul Tonight

I wrote this poem back in April, when I was working as a coat-check girl. The more provocative I dressed, the bigger the tips, but after a while I just got sick of cheapening myself, and hence this poem was produced. Ironically, my tips did not diminish once I started covering up a little more.



I don’t feel like selling my soul tonight,
especially not for a nickel.

I’m tired of visiting the pawn shop,
the man in the window is a dirty, rotten miser.

Last time I visited,
he crumpled my precious bundle in his hands,
threw it to the dirt floor without even looking at it,
and said, “That’s it!? That’s all you got!?”

He’s a good for nothing bastard,
but he helped me pay last month’s rent.

This month’s rent?
I’m not sure how I’ll pay it—
but I don’t feel like selling my soul tonight.

Especially since last time
I couldn’t redeem that poor thing for a whole week
and she sat there shivering in a corner of the dark shop
crying and talking to herself— trying to remain sane.

I put her under my sweater tonight
and told her it’ll be alright
because I don’t plan to sell my soul tonight,
not tonight,
not ever again.