POEM: The Dance

BY ANEL HAMERSMA

She is ill.

She comes from an
ill house

where they taught her

to stop dancing.

After it left her

she was bereft and lonely

having no dancing partner

like the rest of her family

and she spit fire at everything.

Now her house burns.

Let it burn.

Wait and watch
the 
black smoke rise

the flames leap

and when it is done
the 
rain will cool her world

and the wind
will make the ashes

dance.

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