Heather Weisfield wrote her first poem when she was in 6th grade. Her teacher printed it up on poster board and hung it in the hallway. She was hooked and have been writing poetry ever since. Now she is a grandma and a great grandma and another poem of hers is being published. How exciting is that?
This Morning I Danced
I should have been painting the kitchen.
A puddle of warm caramel in my bucket,
drop cloth a blue lake covering the floor,
countertops protected by yesterday’s news.
But I had put Rusted Root in the CD player,
and now the wild, hard rhythms
seeped into my bloodstream,
bass and drums invading my muscles,
high wailing voices tugging at my heart.
Hips twitching and fingers snapping
I kicked off my shoes.
I was the music, wild and primitive,
smooth and sinuous,
flooding the room with movement,
vibrating around lamps and tables,
stomping around chairs.
I should have been painting the kitchen,
but this morning I danced.
Eight years later
I should have been riding my spin bike,
doing my stretches,
strengthening my core.
But I had put Taj Mahal in the CD player
and the blues were invading my body
those low down rhythms sliding
along my spine,
stirring my feet.
I shimmied and swirled,
swayed and …
my knees seized up,
my lumbar lurched.
I lowered myself to the couch
and tapped my toes to the music.