A Dance - Poem by Daniel Brick
Victims of the Paris Massacre
Oh, the nights in Paris!
We have been temporary Parisians
for two weeks, and every hour
our delight is keener. We might
expect to be jaded, weary of nocturnal
pleasures, ready to sink into complacency
and complaint. But no exhaustion
of body and soul assails us. We are like
pilgrims refreshed after reaching their goal,
celebrating a festival of expectations,
in a city where the clocks run backwards
giving us more time than we consume.
Just yesterday we bonded with strangers,
all of us neighbors of the autumn night
which welcomed us, as if honey spilled out of
the moon's interior and fell to earth
along with its pale blue light
to sweeten everything it touched,
flowing over us, making even the saddest
person among us shine with simple pleasure.
After the concert, we shuffled toward the exit,
pressed body to body, all of us smiling because
some inner delight in each of us stretched forth,
blending together in the warmth of the moment.
When we hit the street, and the cold air
slapped our cheeks, we suddenly joined hands,
and began to dance in a long line of revelers,
twisting and swaying, singing snatches of songs,
or just shouting our joy to the moon. Pedestrians
with other goals to reach joined our ranks,
all of us laughing at the sheer nonsense
of all this frivolity. We became for that moment
what we are meant to be - one body becoming one soul.
And then almost as quickly as it began,
the dance came to its end, as people hugged and separated.
And we dispersed, under the honeyed light of the moon.
Poet's Notes about The Poem
people who were enjoying the arts of peace, sharing a night of pleasure in each other's company. The terrorists consider such communal joy offensive to their beliefs and murder to be a proper response to assert their difference.
I read the many responses to this horrendous twisted attitude in poems posted over the past several hours, and soon felt the need to join this chorus of voices affirming the arts of peace. I did what poets do all the time: used my imagination to create an alternate reality, just as attainable
as the violence was among people of good will.
Comments about A Dance by Daniel Brick
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