Writing superb.


a photograph and poem by Ethel Mortenson Davis

There is a dance
the bee makes
when it has found food.
It dances in the hive
with all the other bees
looking on
until each one
understands the dance
and knows where to fly–

unlike the astronauts
who came around
from the dark side
of the moon
and saw (for the first time)
what the earth looked like,
new and bright
and more beautiful
than we could have imagined–
a blue-green jewel
shrouded in white clouds.

They wanted to tell us
the best thing
about going into space
was the earth itself.

They wanted to do
the dance for us,
but we could not
get the sense of it.
We could not imitate
the dance.

The Dance copyright © I Sleep Between the Moons of New Mexico, 2010.

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