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A poetic record of an improvised dance session.

after dancing

Mamo__a__story_of_geraldine_plunkett_dillon_by_isolde_obrolchain_carmodyby Isolde ÓBrolcháin Carmody30 Nov 2013

I lie on my back beneath bending birches
Stretching my senses to upper branches
A whole hill for a cushion, on layers of leaves
Seduced by swaying, scattered through sky.

A silken thread stitched through my soft skull
Suggests gently, begins to spin inwards
I am drawn to my feet, then up, further up,
Reaching up a tree's trunk, an easy ascent,
Until I am perched on a perilous twig
Precarious balance on a narrow branch.
I must dance to keep rhythm with scintilation
Dangling gravity, a pendulum swing
An artful imbalancing act.

Then, leg stretched behind, an inverted climb
Weight hangs from the sky, feet free to swing
Seeking the meeting of upness and downness,
Of trunk, root and ground, of mirror and image.

Now, crouched in long grass, a jungle unfolds
Peering inwards and downwards, each new step of scale
Spiders gallop, frogs fly, butterflies tumble,
All is action and ambush.

Yet here lies a beast's haven
Those who once gambolled
Safe under its covers
Stretched out in long sleep.
Their dreams now reach upwards
Released in discreet bubbles
Up through the soil

Form and memory lose coherence
So that atmosphere blends into air.
Those who were fed here now do the feeding
From roots they push upwards, break through the divide.
Hands outstretched towards love's touch
Present and absent, their breath brushing our skin,
Lingers so lightly, just out of sight.