Poems from Dreamweavers





TO A CHILD CONTORTIONIST

PERFORMING AT THE NPC

 

When they put you in the spot

Light, featherslip

Of a girl,

A hushed cry caught your audience

By the throat.

 

Your feat was different:

Frail body-mind contorted

Between limbs set high apart

On two chairs atop a table,

Willed to a single point

Of survival.

 

You made each trick so

Easy, as they breathed out their

Fear, clapping their heartguts out

And away from your true

Achievement.

 

At Pistang Pilipino every night

Your sequinned litheness

Limns a precarious stance

Where downs are ups,

Neither right nor real.

 

Should you bash your head

Against the floor,

It would not be from lack of skill.

 

I did not last your act tonight.

Something within me fell.