68. THE DANCER
She was forty years
old
She'd been with a
fellow for seven years
They had tickets
to the Bob Dillon/Greatful Dead concert
In Eugene, a drive
of five hundred miles
From Idaho in the
old truck.
There'd be three
in the front seat.
A young blond girl
was coming along, a friend...
Not long before they
were to depart
He told her it was
over...
He confessed that
he and the twenty year old blond girl
Had secretly been
lovers
And now they planned
to make their life together.
Her heart broke from
the betrayal
Mostly she felt old
-- and unpretty...
But the worst was
that they still had the three tickets
And they thought
they should all still go to the concert.
So there was the
five hundred mile drive
In the front seat
With the young girl
nestled in her lover's arms all the way
While she sat trying
not to see them
Concentrating on
the passing scenery, embroidering...
She was a wreck by
the time they arrived.
So she danced.
That's how I first
saw her.
In the parking lot
at a drum circle dancing alone.
I had never in my
life seen such a dancer.
Her passion was so
extraordinary
I stood like a stone
watching
She leaped.
She flew like a bird.
Her veils were wings.
She whirled.
Her slippered feet
covered such wide spaces
I could hardly believe
what I was seeing
And her face, her
face, her face
Was so wrenching
in it's poignancy, in it's incredible beauty
That my heart was
in my throat.
I had my camera with
me.
I made my way over
to the side
Where she often returned
as she danced
And I managed to
ask her if she would permit me
To photograph her
as she danced.
She was surprised.
But she said I could.
Later we walked over
to the little stream
And I shot a few
more.
Then she went away.
She forgot about
the photos
Until the copies
I sent her arrived.
She wrote me a letter
thanking me.
She said the photographs
had so restored her faith in herself
That she had immediately
gone out and
Taken her boyfriend
back from that young girl.
Ten years have passed.
They are still together.
Namaste...
