Forgive the dancer.

While the Pakistanis and Indians are testing bombs underground
she is tying on her long skirt,
lacing her shoes,
pinning up her hair.

While a little boy shoots up a cafeteria full of kids in Oregon
she is stretching out her legs,
bending her back,
arching her feet.

While three white men in Texas drag a black man behind their truck
she is tuning her heart and her breath
to the heart of the music,
the breath of the drum.

As bitter rain burns through the trees
she leaps into the light,
opens her pliant arms to all the wonder in the world.


Old events, but the point is the same.


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