Originally written in Fall 2011
Recently, I was asked to perform a solo piece for the Keshvar Project’s Dia de los Muertos celebration. It was easy to find a relevant song from my handy-dandy mp3 player; and so I proceeded to loosely choreograph to it. Originally, I thought of paying homage to my grandmother, who passed away years and years ago. But this is a 4-minute dance that we’re talking about, and so I went in a different direction.
However, the subject itself reminded me of a poem that I’ve been meaning to dig up since recently reading a beautiful article by Maureen Bloomfield in AEQAI. But with this new opportunity to be a part of an evening of spiritual music and dance expressions, I couldn’t pass up looking for this poem.
It was written as an assignment, while I was working toward my B.A. in English/Literature and taking a Women’s Writing course. The assignment? To write about my mother’s death. Only, my mother is still alive to this day, so I had to speculate what it would be like. That was hard. But in a matter of minutes, a poem was born. I’m hoping that it will be shared at the Keshvar Project show, but I’ll need to find a brave soul who can read it for me.
While digging through notebooks, loose papers, and folders of poetry I’ve written since middle school, I finally found the poem, in addition to one I’d written for fun, apparently after having seen a performance by the Dayton Contemporary Dance Company. So, here it is; I thought I’d share it with you in the hopes that it inspires you, or that you can relate to what I was feeling at that time.
Creative energy stored inside me
Came bursting out
As if I’ve been saving up for winter
So I danced in my clothes
In the living room
Not even turning on the lamp
Straight from my car the CD went into the radio.
I danced and let my body go
Stopping only to shut the blinds
And take off my stockings.
Unplugged Nirvana got to me
Pixies inspired me
And so I find my passion again
I lost it, like one loses a book
And remembers bits and pieces of the plot
But the essence, the purpose gone
Within the pages
the pointe shoes
Gathering dust and mold
In the soles
In the soul
And so I have dusted
And must keep up the housekeeping
To stay young and full of passion
I must dance
And write and sing
To keep the dust from settling.
~Cherie Dawn, October 24, 2000
As always, thank you for taking the time to read this. If you’re curious about the poem regarding my mother’s death, you’ll need to come to the show. While I’m comfortable sharing it with like-minded creatives in a supportive environment, I’m not ready to put it in writing on the internet (and, it’s not related to dance or fire or anything else you’ll find on this blog). If for some reason, it’s not read during the show and you really want to have a taste, then just ask me.