How to Dance a Cross Medley

How to Dance a Cross Medley
Kristin Towe

Have you ever danced a cross medley?

By this, of course, I mean
     did you ever once feel the hot asphalt dig into the tender flesh of your feet
     and plead with the nebulous cloud goddess for ascension?

I too have trudged the tedious black-and-yellow,
      but that was before I learned to tango with telephone wires
      before I dipped my toe into the ocean sky and was submerged.

What I am saying is clear
     and fresh as the street-side daisy, uprooted by Mother Wind
     and pirouetting through the expansive blue like a young girl at her first ballet recital.

Freedom. Is it not the wish of every maiden, strapped to the bomb of love?
     I came to the city in search of a man and a dream.
     Instead, I learned only how to tend my burns (aloe works well).

I begged the street vendor for directions,
     but he insisted on giving me road names and subway routes.
     Sir, please, how do I wander into the expansive blue?

As you can see,
I am weary of asphalt promises
of tending burns
of unremembered dreams.
Might you blow your smoke in this direction? I am familiar with the taste of ashes.

I asked for waltzes and tangos,
not the daily concrete death march.
How small the city seems now,
now that I have fallen in love with the sky.
Telephone poles make the loveliest of dancing partners.

Quiet. The blue queen is calling to me once more, and I shall not wander the desert forever.