Her hips sway to the beat of the banjo
Skylight filters through thatch roof
The flicker of light on a solemn night
A hue of blue shades her face
Her pelvis wines
In the center of the shrine.
The audience watch keenly
From a beautifully dangerous woman
Like foreplay for their eyes.
Their unduly gander, in turn, solaced her.
She calms herself with each exhale
Invoking a fire
Attuned to her chakras.
This dance was passed down
Her grandmother to her mother,
It was dubbed;
“the puppet and the serpent,”
For it reached into each heart
Those stubborn, frivolous hearts
Becharming them to her will.
Her body twists aggressively
as though strings attach to her
the one thing she excelled at,
it called to her
unlike the job she so dreaded
so society wouldn’t label her, a trollop
because people are threatened by anyone outside the box.
she polished her pearls
she donned her shawl
she’d burn the incent
and step barefoot into the shrine.
Night after night,
her lovelies would pour in
this was where she was meant to be
because even if the world passed away,
this was the one place she reigned as god.