Steps of Expectation

I was thinking this morning of my dear friend Colby. Please take the time to visit his site. Listen to "Grown", close your eyes, and conjure the face of someone to whom you should become reconciled. Colby, I wanted to express thanks for taking the music in your heart & head and having the bravery to funnel it out to us all. This poem is that thank you.


There is something holy
In the life of a song.
The giving & receiving.

A creation waltz
Bends in unexpected steps
Stepping & not stepping

On toes. The lead hand
Pushing at something
Wanting a pull.

The lead foot curling off
Balance at each whim &
Yoo-Hoo! mandate.

Once my father opened a
Bunker door & a pewter
Prairie rat scampered out

In a rush of light.
A sixty-year-old-quick
Footsnap pinned its tail

Awkwardly, wedged under
The half-open black iron.
Just go around &

Stomp on its head, he said.
I wore Whites—
Heavy ash-flavored boots

You aren’t really
Going to make me do that
Are you? I said.

But it’s what he wanted.
I knew rat skeletons were
Brittle, even if still alive &

When closing my eyes
I brought my fast heel down
Expecting a whimpered crunch

That never came.
Life, at the very least,
Should end in protest, I thought.

Some crunch & cry of protest
I thought. And stomped, &
Stomped again.