Beth Somerford

Folk Dancing

If we saw them dance this dance
in their own country –

her hair spun

out like caramel, dark skirts petalling;
his knees flexed and arms akimbo,
reaching for the lift

– we would applaud.

Not here.

The dance is wrong.
Her spin is imperceptible, his kick
lethargic.  They move like mannequins.
Instead of the riq, they turn
to the slow slap of water on wood.

Advertisements

2 comments

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s