Tonight's Poet Corner: One, Two, One, Two
One, Two, One, Two by Belinda Roddie It's not that I don't want to dance in these lukewarm, trying times: It's that I can't find the strength to. Even in sunlight, I find myself scraping shadows from the soles of my feet, dragging soles in search of a soul. It's almost as if the choreography I had in my head translates merely into clumsy stumbles over scattered bricks and cinder blocks. I don't know where those came from. I don't know how long they'll stay. My wife wants to dance with me - she understands how to keep rhythm to any whisper from Music's sticky lips. I, however, feel glued to the kisses, and consequently, I stay stationary, immobile, unable to recognize one beat from another. If all goes well in the next month or so, perhaps I'll remember that I have one left and one right foot after all, and I'll be capable of weaving fingers between notes as easily as a pen frisks the treble clef or the negative sp