Georgina Brainerd
If I am standing here,
toes as sharp as my wit
and cares as true as Your love,
then just know that I am waiting.
Not waiting as others do,
for their bus or their drink
or even for Your divine judgement,
but simply for the electric pulse of the music
to swim into my ears and take control,
yanking at my arms
and prodding at my legs,
until my motion blurs the dizzying lights
into one bright shadow,
blending into the wall.
If the music starts,
and that smile
that stretches across Your face
confuses You,
do not blame me for that pain.
You do not need to watch me live,
and I am not watching You.
Instead, I focus only on that spot
where I must plant myself
on the eighth count,
before I shoot up and grow,
blossoming with each swirl,
creating petals of air about myself.
And when my rose-hip
pops out at You,
do not assume I love You,
nor want You near my thorns.
My leaves would rather bathe
My leaves would rather bathe
in the sun,
in a field
far from Your window.
If You wonder who I do this for,
note it is not for You.
My body is my own
and only that buzzing beat can use me
as its doll.
I do not exist in the shadow of the curtains,
but rather illuminated
by the spotlight sun,
forever dancing in her amber arms
that stretch out and hold me up,
every time You try to burn me down.
You think I fear Your flaming tongue,
that fires ashy remarks,
and yet You maintain that hell is my home.
But what You don’t know
is that — like me — the dancing flames
never burn out,
and we flicker together,
warm deep within our hearts.
If I have offended You,
I wish I could say I felt sorry.
Should it distress me to learn
of Your anger and hate?
Should it worry me to think
of all the energy You have to use,
just to try to teach me all my wrongs?
If the furs that rub on my shoulders,
mingling carnally with my own hairs,
and the deep purrs of the animal pressed
against my body
tease Your senses
and boil You from the inside,
do not be feel tormented by me,
and let that ‘manly’ power inside Your bones
enjoy the manly sight in Your view.
And then, if tomorrow You are still
daydreaming of this devil that danced
and dangled You down
into the depths of her feverish den,
do not come back and curse me
or cure me of my life.