Thai Dancing Girls
Their eyes follow the slow grace
of each gesture.
Hands curl, flare, and flex,
a ballet of fluent fingertips.
Long nails as red as tongues
turn in a polished eloquence.
Delicate arms hold aloft
delicate hands,
wrists arabesque,
palms turn like pages.
You hear the voice of the hands,
see the song of the hands,
your feet shuffle wanting to emulate,
participate, relate,
but your own hands are in love and angry,
they cannot speak; for you missed
the moment
when these dancing women
became open flowers upon a flowing river.
Your clenched fists
are a kind of bare knuckled poetry,
one that only a sinuous water can read.
All you can do now
is watch the words that hands make
as if you were a mute stone
around which a river flows.
Copyright © Eric Ashford | Year Posted 2023
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