Friday, May 22, 2020

Retablo Twisting Twirling Lessons

I didn't understand you, my dear retablo,
Dancing your magical, spiritual, love filled lessons
With your twirling, twisting, outstretching arms
Every morning at six. 

Four years I stared at your dance,
But I didn't yet speak your language.
I didn't know that each twirl, each saint, each leaf
Taught through each twirl, each twist,
Each outstretching of a hand or leaf.

Faithfully, I followed the rules the teachers in black cassocks,
and stiff white collars demanded.
I memorized their lessons while not understanding yours,
In your twirls, your swaying hips,
And your twisted, twirling sing song language.

I stared at your dance every morning at six
I inhaled the incense, sang songs of praise,
Folded my hands and prayed.
And still did not understand your twirling, twisting language.

You snaked your lessons around and around.
You danced and twirled louder and louder.
But I didn't hear your undulating, snaking language
That you danced for me every morning at six.

I stare now at a photo of your twisting snaking dance,
Frozen for four hundred years.
Again, I see your undulating, snaking
Twirls and swirls, and your outstretched arms.

Now each morning when I get up at six,
I rise and ride above twirling snakes
Along the river, under the snaking clouds
Who continue your lessons in a
Language I am almost old enough
To understand.

I love to dance and twirl throughout the day
With my undulating, snaking body
Re-interpreting the lessons
You tried to teach me
Every morning at six.

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