Ariel Gordon

Eight months: the square dance

This square may be all circle but I am getting sick of the dance
do-si-do-ed from legs shoulder width apart
legs bent to take the bounce the strain of whatever may come

Tipping back and forth on the cradle of my hips
regulating your metronome spill your astronaut float
through my centre of gravity

Learning the best way to get up
when my legs have been kicked out from under me
my knuckles bruised not on an enemy's glass jaw

Or uncut teeth but on the kinks of mattress coils
couch cushions carpet piles as though they were soil
and you a seed to be carefully buried till spring

But what I know now restless before the big event
walking off your sucker punches your pile drives
is even long green promises split the soil