G Spot

The Dance

By Virginia J. Pasalo

 

I walked to the beach today, before dawn, alone, with two dogs barking after me. I carried with me my pink umbrella, in case it rains, but left it in the guard’s outpost, with my sandals. I was going to leave the wrap-around skirt too, but the wind was strong and it might be blown away, so I draped it on my shoulders and greeted the waves, whose warm welcome shook my feet. The dark is slowly fading with the light, and it would have been a good time to just plunge in total nakedness, since no one was on the beach. I was one with the vast expanse of the sea, but I shared this precious moment with two dogs, who stopped barking, and just sat still in the sand, feeling the same wind, and listening to the music of the salt water.

I immersed my thoughts with the waves, and immediately became part of a dance, moving with each undulation, forgetting I was in the water. I remembered those who drowned, and wondered whether they drowned or they got into a dance. I realized, the liquid dance floor had the power to enchant. The movement was slow, sensuous, and even when it became abrupt, the body totally surrendered to the beat. It is as if the whole sea is a heartbeat, and my own heart is indistinguishable from its beating. Here, alone, there was no space for remembering, the moment soaked the body and the mind.

 

Dance of death

Every day, I watch you come out of a nightmare
a tired turtle crawling to the water, in the bathroom
to wash your face and brush your teeth
your body begs to be washed too
but your feet drags, to the kitchen, where you pick a toast
and a cup of coffee that you used to brew
but now, emptied from a sachet.

the heat scorches, and you take comfort
in the air-conditioning that conditions your mind
to believe, in the unreality of reality
holding on to the memory
of what was once, your reality.

each day unfolds, with a line on your forehead
a wrinkle on your lips, unable to say kind words
to others, and to yourself.
lately, not a word.

others had moved on
bathing in the warmth of the sun
after being shot on the run
and I wonder if you will be happy
with tea, from poison ivy?

more and more, each day, I find myself begging,
to be washed with your smile, the way your body begs
for the soothing caress of sea water

I want to go to the ocean, to catch the colors of the rainbow
and feel the kisses of the sun, or I can hold on, to you,
losing grip, staringĀ at the muzzle of a gun