Kneeling
I am kneeling at your feet
I’m not praying, you are.
I am dancing without moving.
I don’t pray, I let you do that for me.
I touch your feet because I can,
it is not worship but more of an exercise
to see if I can bend your way.
I am tired of always standing.
With you there is no sitting.
You are always in my way
saying, saying, saying.
When all I want to do is dance with you.
You are not my friend, this is not friendship.
We just know each other
that’s all I would call it.
We talk in the same room at the same time
but are we even saying anything?
Are we even talking to each other?
I can’t finish this dance,
I don’t know the next step
or which way to move my feet.
But you say the next line of the song
that no one has written yet
and I forget my lines.
The awful drama of our lives.
We are watching each other
like T.V., switching channels,
avoiding commercials, muting it
when it’s too loud.
But we are not on a show,
are we? We are naked
sometimes as if we need to understand
our real nature. Who are we on this stage
where songs, dances, and dramas ensue?
Remember I know your feet,
I have felt them in my sleep.
I know why you can’t walk towards me.
But I cannot let you walk on me
anymore. I bleed on the couch
while I’m doing my nails and I see the
stain that you will later sit on.
I want to paint my blood on you,
but I don’t bleed for you.
I bleed for us all. The red stain
on the sofa is an image of us.
It is our residue. The mess we leave
behind when we don’t say each other’s
names in the night. We make excuses for
our bad grammar. We don’t know the right
way to say the end of this song.
nina