My mother played piano.
And I, Isadora, would dance.
When our house caught fire,
I mimicked the flames with the arch of my body.
My mother stared solidly into the blaze.
She leapt only once,
when the piano peeled away from its legs
and twanged into a crackled chord.
When the song ended,
curls of dust rose in adagio
and followed my lead.
My spirit found its form in fire.
My dance ignited in sparks.
Now I spring past myself into your light.
I am your blink and your grasp
your leap up from the kitchen table,
the turn of your head to your lover's voice.
My spirit is the static of your negligee
As the material clings.
I cling and you are lit.
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Submission Name: Isadora Duncan's Fire
