Rhonda's Dance
We met at the beach again this morning.
You asked me to come early, before work. "
Oh, I don't mind that," I answered.
Though I did wonder why the time changed.
For five years now,
it has always been around midnight.
We both loved the way that
the moon made the water
look like satin.
Everytime we meet,
we see the grebes dancing on the water.
"They are lovers," you explained.
"They will only dance for each other. Loyal."
I smiled. Silently,
I hung on to your every word.
For I was certain that you knew
what you were saying.
"I've been hearing things about you," You said.
"Disturbing whispers of weariness.
I'm sure that can't be right."
I hung my head,
hoping that
you didn't see my tears.
"I wonder...how come they don't sink?"
I murmured.
You turned your attention back to the grebes.
"They don't know that they're walking on water.
They are far too busy with the task at hand,"
You answered.
I defyingly stared straight ahead
because I felt your disappointment in me.
There was an uncomfortable quiet
as I awaited my scolding.
"The birds are still dancing,"
you broke the silence."
"I just can't imagine what keeps them out on the water for so long," I responded,
relieved that you changed the subject.
You stood up.
Never looking again towards me,
you smiled, almost gasping, and said,
"They will not tire.
They are busy with the task at hand. Perhaps,
once they've completed it, they will realize that
only Jesus walks on water."
With that, you stepped out
and joined them in dance.
Copyright © Carol Bowen-Davis | Year Posted 2019
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