The Circle Dance

 “The Circle Dance”

 

The sun hung low o’er dust and flame,

Where lilac branches gently grew,

And childhood bore no hint of shame,

Though tears would fall like morning dew.

 

She called me forth with joy and pride,

A whoop, a holler, sharp and true,

Then round we twirled, arms opened wide—

Her love in motion as we flew.

 

“Get me a switch,” she’d often say,

And to the lilacs I would tread,

To find a branch not thick, nor fray,

But firm with care and subtle dread.

 

That slender wand she held with grace,

Lay resting high on Norge’s top,

A sentinel of time and place—

Of lessons taught that wouldn’t stop.

 

No belt she bore, no wrath she gave,

Her hands were strong, but never cruel,

She danced me round like wind on wave,

Her love the fire, her will the rule.

 

But time moved on, the dance grew still,

My legs too long for spinning lore,

And though she flailed with steadfast will,

Her arms could circle me no more.

 

She’s gone now—gone beyond the sky,

Beyond the scent of lilac bloom,

Yet when the dusk and shadows lie,

I feel her dancing through the gloom.

 

For life’s no idle dream, I see,

When forged with grace and mother’s hand—

Her switch was not to punish me,

But plant my roots to help me stand.

 

And so I turn, alone I spin,

Around the echoes of her call,

A circle dance once held within,

Now etched in love that conquers all.