top of page

The Moving Pieces

by K Weber



I        dream         about        my past

dream        it’s my future

Image is of half of a woman's face with a collage of colourful paper stuck all over her face,
Image credit: Danilo Batista on Unsplash

I was        a flannelled girl        in the sun

spinning a practice flag               candy-

smacking                left        right

left  front yard                    underage

neutral duplex

My metronome pulsed          The man

next door           flirted

with my amateur moves


I did it next to the spiny driftwood         Drop

spins  double-fasts


Afraid

to toss high

catch flat

put my whole body inside the beat

maneuver silk in the rain

in the arena

the parade

Afraid

to drive

volume up

treble low

windows shimmying

to make my own music

to be looked into the greyest

blue of my eye

the flushed chest and cheeks

gum-pink

sick-white


but but but made sure

any     crush          of burgundy velvet

shine of bent spandex

writing on my shoes

was seen

by the right         wrong

boys

Blurred image of a woman dancing.
Image credit: Ahmad Odeh on Unsplash

Teenage        girls

drum majors

marked my time

as the percussion

creeped

sounded

resounded

within        my undiagnosed

backbone


I still do        those tricks        with brooms

tubes of gift wrap

I’m an adept witch   in a different aisle

no stringent formation

no Halloween-ish makeup 

so the crowd can see me

no 50-yard-line                Hip-

jut to the store’s background music

cashiers confused        I daydream        measures

that sent me front

center

halftime


I tried        not to let the pole          hit

my costume’s chains before they’d clang

as a muted triangle

my head’s plume        that fascinator

the saxophone of the right      wrong

boy

who barely        held my sweat-        pounding hand

in the back of the bus

I bit        my own lip

faced forward

towards

away

games

I’ve done it all again

in my head

that swing

jazz        run

cat-creeping                 The red

The yellow

of my orange fabric

reconciled                Today I’m more electronic

abandoned my lessons

threw out notations

but never hesitate


to stand front        center        in the venue

to feel the knock        the collision        the speed

of wood

of metal                   I stay        in tune

out of tune

on another

wavelength


Sometimes I nod back        roll my toes

as though the click-start                      of the performance

was second nature

when I walk  in step  my bad instep

in March

as a body with a whole hellcat inside

I misstep         then chime in

wide arms howl in my own tone’s color


with the toms


Image of colour light streaks.
Image credit: Michael Dziedzic on Unsplash

***

Black and white photo of the auhor, K Weber.
K Weber


K Weber obtained her BA in Creative Writing from Miami University & has 10 self-published, online books of poetry. She writes independently & collaboratively, having created poems from words donated by 300+ people since 2018. Much of K's work (free in PDF & audio) & her publishing credits are on her website: kweberandherwords.com

Recent Posts

See All

Comments


bottom of page