in the parking lot she dances and i see her -
i see the young girl dancing in the parking lot:
tiny maybe five and unaware that parking lots were never meant
for dancing,
she moves among cars and trucks and strangers watching,
swaying rhythmically to the music of traffic and teenaged boys
teasing from the sidewalk.
she dances just dances to the unrestrained dictates of a fresh intuition
and i wonder at and long for the reason
- that living reason -
the one that thrives so mysteriously and continuously offers
unexplained motive behind my getting out of bed every single
morning, morning after morning.
it lurks underneath laughs that explode,
and it's the stuff that makes little girls dance in parking lots
- that triumphant reason beneath -
and i hear her mother calling,
calling for her to get in the car but she just dances because the reason
doesn't listen, doesn't hear, it doesn't worry about being late for
the next place to be - especially when there is dancing to be
done.
she dances.
her pony-tail bounces,
her blue dress is intoxicated with centripetal force,
her mother's voice gets louder while still going unheard...
and i watch -
just sit in my car and watch the little girl dancing in the parking lot
in love with the reason why she can't hear her mother call.