Dance,
before taking wings with lyrical figures,
was rooted in the heavy thighed.
It was never a performance.
It was an offering.
A connection.
A unity.
It was Not a means of shaming and annihilating.
You say you are attending, but
with that subtle superior externalized spirituality
I can smell the funk of practice gone rotten,
but I saw her awkward beside you
wanting to be belonged.
I wonder how it has been.
But you shamed,
and shunned,
Cared more about the eyes of the half-hearted audience
than the fully engaged heart of the tender soul before you.
Dance was never meant to be a performance
But an offering
Dance was never meant to shame
But to unify
Your smooth sexy movement makes me want to dance some ugly butoh.
I want to dance the dance of clawed hands and grimacing face.
My rage wants to dance at you.
I wanna Haka you down to your knees.
But her
I’m gonna smile the welcome smile to all her weirdo places,
I’m gonna match the lovingness in her almond tilted eyes,
I’m gonna dance my masculine/feminine, until they know their brand of human is fully welcomed here.
I watch her taking selfies
and asking strangers to take videos
her dance is the dance of, see me; please see me
But you, you unsaw her.
I step in between.
I tell her I’ve been noticing her, and
ask her,
instead of the camera,
will you dance for me?
show me,
all the ease and dis-ease.
And she does,
her beautifully awkward, off timed
arms all akimbo
face absolutely radiant
I tell her dance might be the most beauty
I have ever seen.
I say yes to her dance.
A grace. A disgrace.
a stomp or a tendu
omit nothing of the fullness of your being
dance it all my beloved,
you are only fully belonged
if you dance your complete you.
© Sabrina Santa Clara, 2014