steve dalachinsky

trio 1.



in the afternoon

late but

before the blizzard descends

fast thick entrance &

end

the man with his hand above his eyes

to block the pinks of sunset

looks out onto the empty street

scans left to right

yells very loud

without a sound

“these feet are mine”



trio 2.



in the afternoon

later but

still before darkness

just before

in fact quite at its edge

the air thickens

snow comes with guts &

huge blinding gusts

the man

hand ½ covering his eyes

swallows the cold

let’s sisterhood melt on

his tongue

thinks @ the very tip of his brain

as he moves slowly forward

“where are those who bore me?”



trio 3.



his feet

are borne forward

the skin on the drums of his fingers

are torn open where they bend

& speak sharply of their neglect

his body softer

bluer

sadder

than in his youth

sings a more cautious song



it is after afternoon

& snow & shadow become one

as his hand reaches

the entrance.



trio 4. (the dancer’s company kept)



hand on knee

hand on mouth

mouth on floor

floor on knee

close to the fabric

of your skin

you ask for “MOTHER.”



trio 5. (the dancer only)



you are flat

in the seams of flatness

you creak like an old floor

you rage quietly

& open to daylight

the storm’s a long way off



look – your lover stands at the edge

of the perch –

an old lover with a young face –



open your arms wider

spread your face wider

open the door wider

& let the daylight

in.



trio 6. (ensembling > in the marketplace)



he hates pancakes / he only eats cereals

with maple syrup if he eats anything @ all



wind / tunnel

in the call even on this street

wild earth beckons

we answer like starved & hopeless johns

come thru the tube rectified & erect

eat bitter herbs wonder the entangled fruit

like gum chewing fauna

phil, charles & sally lean against the dark

lean into the folds of an antique world

where she walks thru a Victorian

in stripes leather & fur

while the poor humble themselves

& roll over

& the rich breathe heavily

then play dead



in simple point of fact

simple language

& gospel truth

this world turns like a propeller

around the sun

& the dancer reacts to the surface of time

volcanic rock on a treacherous peak

flat & sustained

the surface of her breath / her eyes

coming down



her bed is narrow & the line is long

tho no one will get near her



the song is deep &

opens up the dancer’s legs

our bones are buried

deep within

to root & grow

face down

behind the water’s

halo. (“these feet are mine” she wordless speaks)