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a poem.

And it was for the honeysuckle moments that we endured the

sour ones?

Yes, the sour ones. You know, the moments where upset faces

our faces were downcast

Stages in our lives that we wish would pass

More quickly

swiftly?

Yes.

The moments were tricky, full of doubt in ourselves, wondering if the time spent now was all for naught

not so?

No.

Then why need it be so hard?

Start to wonder if the path we’re on is

marred by the people who

Failed?

yes.

don’t you know? It’s strange to walk along a road when

the road is littered with the corpse memories of those who

Failed?

of course it’s scary—it’s almost…dreary, you know…

To walk a path when all you see is those leering at you from the places they huddled in because they

Failed.

too harsh. They weren’t us.

They weren’t us.

I’m beginning to wonder what would happen if

We joined them?

sat along the road and leered at those who walked after us…

That’s a road.

yes.

Guess what I am to say next?

I know you. You will say the road is ours to walk.

Yes.

And we choose which paths we take and those we do not

Sought

out the roads that were less travelled

Pummeled by the rain instead of the doubting ones who said, “All for naught!”

Not so?

No.

So what if we fail?

Will we?

I don’t know what I would do…

Neither do I, you know—to think of a world where I’m not

… something I’m envisioning

It’s a reckoning

with whom?

Ourselves? Maybe? A time when we have to decide, in the pace

Space of a few heartbeat moments… are we willing to do what needs to be done?

It’s not about A-Z, but the journey, trajectory from A to B, that’s what we focus on

That’s what we’re missing…

Make a noise loud enough and they’ll have to listen

Move myself so emotively that their attention will be

Captured!

and their minds moved to a place that they knew not of—a place where they can rest for a moment

be challenged for an hour and then

Then?

Think.

About what?

What if we succeeded?

Together?

Yes.

What if we became everything we ever wanted to be?

We found each other…

I didn’t expect to find you…

you did.

Yes.

Things happen for a reason sometimes, you said.

I said something like that.

Led

me to a place

Stayed awhile and then faced the rest of the day

And this is pain!

The path is difficult.

Resulting in what?

No action is so permanent that it cannot be undone, unstitched

Erased or unhitched from our backs—the weight we sometimes carry is only because we choose to carry it

True,

and you see me see you

What do you see?

An artist!

Yes, I see the same

It’s pain

Yes, that’s only the arts’ blame

Or is it the things we make?

We make the wrong things, put out the wrong voice

Never showing enough of ourselves so that we make the choice

to hide! Or miss the count of 5678—tendu, dégagé, tendu, dégagé

Counting in time to the rhythm that I missed the entry of

and what if we’re in the wrong place?

Doing the wrong thing?

What if we’re just us?

Doomed to rust

along the road that the

leering faces must settle on?

Just! That word has stifled, muffled and quenched the genius out of far too many.

I’m not a genius, I’m just me.

Just! You said it again.

It’s true.

Is it rude?

To yourself?

Cheapening your voice and your choice you have in this matter?

“Just!”

We are artists! We do what we must!

Just…

Do you not know?

Did you not sew

your shoes one morning when

I watched from your bed,

Your fingers moving so effortlessly—they knew they way

You didn’t want to, but you did it anyway

Because I had to…

Because you had to. Exactly. It’s what you know, yes?

Guess how many people who came before had not half of your brilliance and vision

Half your doubt. You seem to doubt because you care—it means so much, because

it’s everything!

I know.

And you know how to press meaning into the movements you make so instinctively.

I see that.

And do you not see how you move people with your sound?

Your mind clouds

your hasty judgement when you doubt who..you..are,

and it’s like you said: make a noise

loud

enough and they’ll have to listen—but you know that’s not the point

Point me in the right direction?

You already know.

Yes.

You do also. Fearing the worst, when look at where you are! Look at what you’ve done.

I see you, I love you,

I see the sun

and think it does not shine half as bright as you when you run

through your movements—thinking to yourself

Shaking your head: how do you best say what needs to be said?

You saw that?

Even high I cannot take my eyes off of you.

True, I see you, too.

Our art is not defined by what we end up making

But that we started in the first place?

The rest comes—wrong or right…

Thinking that it’s so black and white—

right and wrong—

fail or success

When really it’s just a mess of a road that leads in a hundred different paths—none of them right, none of them wrong.

We’ve started, and…

Yes?

I can’t wait to see what comes next…