Poems

Michael Jackson, 1958-Forever

Dancer

 

I remember being

so moved by him, by

his being who he is,

the sheerness of his voice

climbing somewhere in soft words,

skipping nothing human,

loving that he could love.

 

Night skies moved with his feet, stars

pocketing themselves

in and out of the stage lights:

the wonder of socks,

silver glint

sparkle

wink

twirl:

glitter moments.

 

But –

 

There were times when he slowed,

curled over

like he wanted a shell.

He wanted us to smile and cry

for him.

Part of the act.

 

Read: Five Reasons Not to Be Sad about Michael

© 2009 benmurnane.com.