A. Van Jordan
Rope
As if two girls were starting a fire
On all sides of my daughter,
She is set ablaze: the girls swing
Two clotheslines between them
As if they were goddesses
Holding two country roads
Leading to each other; neighbors
Surround her syncopated dance
As her seizure of heat begins
To flicker on the moonlit sidewalk—
Now, the ropes are white hot—
Her hair ignites in the upswing; her barrettes,
Like petrified butterflies, click on the off beat;
Her knees pump like she's walking on red coals;
Her arms flail as if she's calling the rain
To put her out; she jumps, she flirts
With the flame: she jumps backwards
And then turns forward,
Rocking in and out of the light,
Her hands testify around her head
Or pose on yet-to-be hips, till
Her fire snuffs out as a wind blows cold,
A car with flashing lights
Slows past, and the braids of our summer night
Surrender to gravity.
A Van Jordan, M-A-C-N-O-L-I-A, W.W. Norton & Co,, 2005.