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
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