Last Dance.

photo by Ahmad Odeh at Unsplash

As she drew her comb over her head

preparing for the day, the wind played,

teasing at the thin strands, songs of yesterday,

echoes from the past and dances of life

stepped into her mind, whisked and twirled,

and her feet shuffled as she scattered his ashes

with a parting chasse to the eternal ballroom.

Inspired by recent poems posted by David Bogomolny on The Skeptic’s Kaddish, (https://skepticskaddish.com/) I thought I would try a Cleave poem. To read it you should read the left hand poem as a first discrete poem, then the right hand poem as a discrete poem, then both poems together as a whole poem.