This will be published in the upcoming special edition of Voices Magazine - the Spirit of Strength issue. Part of the proceeds will go to St. Jude's Cancer research.

THE DANCE

Backward, turn backward, O Time, in your flight. Make me a child again just for tonight. - Elizabeth Chase Akers


The night we find the lump
in your breast
we watch those asian beetles
disguised as ladybugs fly to a refuge -

our indian lamp shade,
a wash of purple and violet.
Tiny beads dangle
like the skirt of a loose flapper.

Bare light beckons
like a lighthouse.
The beetles twirl, enthralled
by the potent spark.

We watch, rapt
as they dive deep, deeper
as one by one, each gets too close
to the hot bulb,
clink of hard body on glass,
buzz then silence.

Wings scatter like pixie dust
into the heaven
That is an 8x8 reflection
on our slate blue ceiling.

We are mesmerized by their bravery
each sees the casualties
but still dances onward,
a last dip before autumn leaves scatter.

You fall asleep,
light shines warm on your face.
I cover you with the afghan
woven by your mother many moons ago.