After ‘White Walls’ performance by Leah Francis, 2021
Whistles laced into the wind
Murmurations, ancient guttural calls
to blissful buttery pudding
Echoes bounce endlessly
Regurgitating gravel and the grit of our past
Lost sounds surface
nestled in the twisted crook of a birds wing
a matriarchal mother sings
Stop looking and you will hear
The dust in my mouth
stifling the thing
I most need to shout
‘I’m Moving’ for RJC Dance, Leeds
Watch these arms make shapes, rings around me.
Positions from hours, in dance studio mirrors.
Hips roll, toes point, head over feet.
I try to loosen, to reverse this bolt someone tightened,
so long long ago, to make me dance neat.
I need to drop low now.
I need to let go.
I need to be free of it, finally, be me.
A music found me or I found it, a rhythm, a new dance, a carnival beat.
And when you know, you know.
You return to it year after year, week after week.
And it’s feeding my soul, as I devour each beat.
I love to gaze
at the sky
nothing but the sky
the clouds, the light
I am so small
am I, am I
No matter the formation
of the clouds
or the mood
The sky, the sky
my reason why