“Passing Spark” and “The Wheel”

I recall light spilling through

                   double-story windows;

alabaster walls and high picture rails

          of the silk flowers on a grand piano,

petals fixed in perpetual bloom

in a space confined by rigid lines

s w e p t    aside by a melody shouting freedom,

lifting bodies, loosened breath

my dress swinging to the beat

                     I remember twirling,

skipping between long shadows,

     dancing beyond the  r e a c h 

of restricted choices; suspended

for a moment in a sparsely decorated room;

my bare feet, tiptoeing on polished boards

               until music slows, light fades

and a reckless boldness retreats,

restoring conformity's grip;

s l i p p i n g        into heels that bind feet,

                reigning in a rebellion behind panes of glass

          patience entwined in leather

drawn taut with every step

until memory’s but a pirouette’s reflection,

a  p  a  s  s  i  n  g     s p a r k

that never flourished inside me at all.

a bar locks into place, and the turning

wheel creaks, pulling us toward clouds

troubles sway below red parasols

we’re held in spinning circles

constellations blink on metal rods

laughter drifts from crowds below

and sugar-stained lips meet

we float in spinning circles

our hands slip free, a breath

releases the name I don’t own,

your shoulder turns, untethered

we’re lost in spinning circles

wind swallows half-formed words

high above, forgotten by the earth

we’re trapped in spinning circles

until we stall

turning,

returning,

until sore feet strike solid ground