Sometimes I wake up and wonder:
Is that the gentle shimmy of tectonic plates,
Or the powerful flow of
blood from my chest to my feet?
I lay there on my hard futon,
Trying to identify the source of the movement
Some groggy, eyes-shut-waking mornings
I cannot tell if it’s the Richter
Or just my heart moving fluids.
And in the moment of settling, I think
The Earth and I may have something in common;
The need to readjust a little bit,
Give a small shimmy, expand the veins,
So we can go back to sleep.
Dappled sunlight white and yellow fell
Upon my couch with pillows orange and blue,
And I resplendent in this cozy spell
Thought lightly about life and what I do.
I am one who crossed the great wide sea,
Who lives a life away from what is known.
I shrugged off comfort and complacency
And left for foreign shores and foreign towns.
In truth I did not give these musings strength
(A Sunday morning is best spent in rest)
I sent them off with tea until at length
One tiny thought sat heavy in my chest:
How have I crossed the world and lived by chance
Yet never once have I been asked to dance?
No joke! I was just sitting there, on my couch, thinking about nothing in particular, when it occurred to me that I have never been asked to dance.
I think I was asked to dance when I was in seventh grade? SEVENTH. GRADE. Oh my God, what happened? I make light of it in this sonnet, but that is ridiculous!