En pointe

For hours we would try to master the Viennese Waltz

come Sunday we found ourselves lullingly doing the

tow-step behind closed blinds; the record always

skipped in the same place but neither of us ever

budged to fix it, we’d  much rather pointe ballet.

It reminded us of girl we used to know-

she would walk around life on the tips of her toes;

almost rapturous and her head always high

when we questioned her as to why anyone

would do such a painful thing she’d say:

 “just trying to catch the Mandjet and sail away.”

The not so awkward silence on the L-I-DOUBLE- R

We sat there

no words exchanged

not fishing for some cheap

line to verbalize

I enjoyed that fact.

Then she just smoothed out the words

in the most lovely tone:

“Most people can’t do this and be comfortable. Frivolous conversations aids the galling of most peoples’ gut.”

I smiled at the thought because

usually I’m mistaken for being disinclined

not her.

I told her we were both cats in our past lives

“no.” she said

“you and I, we were honey bees of the same hive; our momma was The Queen.”

She has always been a soul sister of mine

even before such a thing as time.

*CUE: Ab-Soul, The Book of Soul.

We never say grace

We just pray to eleven:eleven

even though time has proven it to be futile

whenever it strikes the clock

we pay homage

bow our heads-close our eye

and mumble wandering wishes.

You can’t break bread with hands that are habitually

clenched to something on the rocks.

And you certainly can’t sing all of those Catholic hymns

when the lungs are heavy with years of

ashes and embers.

amen.