WHY I DON'T WEAR SHOES TO DANCE

When I dance
I leave my body
to escape into the sky
with my arms flailing wild into the wind,
my eyes glazed
with tears that rain joy upon the Earth
while my breast move with gyrations
and convulsions
and sensual onulations.
Jerking my neck until it snaps
and my hair
-- wild and whipping,
cut into the lightness, of sound
as my bare feet ring like iron on iron
banging out patterns too random to repeat.
I feel sexually removed from myself
as I push me out of me
in all that is good and bad,
all that is young and old,
all that is and will be
male and female in me.
Breaths in heavy pants and soft sighs
sucking hard on the dance's full expression
as each turn
and each twist
gives forth and reveals more of its total ambiance
placing it in utter uniqueness and true artistry.
My thighs burning with fatigue
and my feet
kicking up clouds of dirt and dust
-- which hides my calluses,
places me in a thickness of brown and red delight.
And my fingers,
numbed from their stretch for the dream of perfection
-- a dream to create and destroy,
stiffen and fall
in a world where shoes are optional.
Mute and mindless
a slave to the rhythm
I drive onwards
act by act
until the blood of my body flows fast through my veins.
I silently scream, "Come forth, Come forth"
to Gregorian chants and muffled words of criticism
for when I am done, I will take a bow.
Bowing to you all with love by the hands of my inner conductor.
And through it all my eyes will be closed
so that no visual copies can be made.
Only the feeling,
only the emotion
as I leave to go find my dancing shoes
waiting in the shadows.


(Dedicated to the existence and of the legacy of Alvin Aliey and Dance)
Why I Don't Wear Shoes to Dance by Shazza Nakim
Copyright © by Peace of Mind Publishings and with permission by Shazza Nakim