The Courtyard Dancer And Her Blanket

her exceptional beauty,
her voice, the way her whole body sang,
lit her lovely face.
feeling out her ground,
her sharp dark tropical eyes
aimed straight for us.
she warmed us, dared us,
dappled with our desires.
with each crackle of the blanket
she laughed, motioned
as she leaned into our flesh-filled stories.
she teased. watched our weather change.
we were in her court.
at times she'd pause. stare.
kiss the blanket.
she was on her victory ship.
she drew her splash
from the orange pinches,
fiery reds and deep greens
weaved into the rich knit stitching.
"my angelic threads," she says.
"from the tears of the good earth."
we were left galvanized.
later, when folding
the corners she looked up
and whispered:
“grandma, did you see?
we did it. didn't we?"
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