“A poem about violas.”
They speak with bows
without arrows to churn peace,
stirred strings striking marrow.
Finding musical trails.
with harmless harmonies,
violas walk through music.
Some milongueros test me
with a deep rhythm of power
rigid moves, ancient grasping.
The young ones dance lightly
watching my dress flutter
swaying and sinking into beats.
During the cortina break,
a man met me with his eyes.
we talked in the hallway.
He brought new york here:
his clothes and voice,
a prize in Spanish land.
His dance was muscle car strong,
but it was not tango in full:
so the passion unbloomed- abrubt.