Tea & Numbers
I dreamed I was Michelangelo
and David asked me
what I saw in him.
and I couldn't explain it,
and I couldn't comprehend it myself.
so I replied with a simple bit
about the lines in his face
about the composition of humanity
in his legs --
"there will be time," I muttered.
-and found myself again with tea
across the table from a white bearded man
who spoke of flight, of wings,
who spoke of walking on water
and saving the human race,
of the proportion of space.
"there will be time," I again muttered
to the idealist
to a dropping face.
"Time is of the essence, I imagine," he said sipping.
and I drew a line.
"My time is in my lines,
they are numbered," I replied.
"We have made life an art," he observed.
I drew another line and found myself
among angels under a curved ceiling,
my time expanding with the arcs
"There will be time," I muttered,
breathing space between creation and creator.
There will be time.
Patrice is a young poet and choreographer still feeling for her roots and enjoying
every inch of discovery. She grew up in suburban Long Island and migrated to New
York City to work, work work. Patrice currently is studying creative writing and
dance on scholarship at Hunter College. She likes to think that she read too much as
a child and blames T.S. Eliot for showing her the light (and dark) and Pearl Primus
for showing her how to bend it. Patrice is an explorer, and can often be caught
climbing Central Park's rocks. She hopes to someday run an multi/inter-disciplinary
arts company so that she and others may forever dare.
© 2005 Underground Voices