Fire Dancing
In Bulgaria, the Nestinari touched me when I was a child
high above the arm to hold, something new and something old.
She said, "Your feet were meant to walk the fire."
A plain proposition I did not understand; I liked the
acrobats, flying and walking the wire.
She asked my permission and I granted it unknowing
that my path diverged that night, cool coals on the ground and
Early morning on the rise, I see more than just shadows now.
In Bulgaria, we walk the fire and our feet do not burn-
in twenty-years time, it will be my turn.
In a trance I spin and the music pumps loud,
"Aye dance", faster like Giselle; and sparks fly
as I kick the soil, embers in the air;
just putting on a show for the crowd.
The glory of tradition passed into me; the fury and
the light; the cool of a glacier in my core.
In Bulgaria, we walk the fire and our feet do not burn-
twilight to daylight, there are always more steps to learn.
D.Goodman 11-26-13
Copyright © Daisy Goodman | Year Posted 2013
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