The Spiral Dance I chomp idly on the mangled drinking straw, And wonder why I agreed to come to this place. There is nothing here I have not seen before, And even the odd writhing dance lacks a grace That I had been told it would hold, if I came here. I snort under my breath and push back my chair. It is the time wasted for which I'll shed a tear. About the others? I am bored, and so I do not care. I move as quickly towards the door as I can, Given that there are people trying to have fun. In the dark, I can hardly tell a woman from a man, Though an old disco ball spins like a second sun. The noise that is music rockets to a screeching height, And I wince, wondering whom it is meant to sear. Well, in a minute I'll be outside, in calm cool night, And if the others want to, they can ruin their ears. Halfway- no, I am a little closer to the door, And I sigh with disgust and relief to see That I am so close. This place is small. One step more, And then someone steps deliberately in front of me. I jerk myself upright, staring in odd, sudden hate At someone who would stop me from making a choice To get out of here-indeed, who would make me wait. Then low to my ears, sexless in dark, comes a voice. "You think that those who brought you here lied, And there is nothing interesting for you to see." Though I am gasping at the stranger's boldness inside, He-she? -is saying nothing that is not true of me. "Yes," I say finally, after an uncomfortable pause, Not sure why I feel as though I was admitting a sin. Then a hand comes to rest upon me; the fingers are claws For just a moment, I think, digging into my skin. Then the grip relaxes, and the voice is calm and gentle. "The true entertainment is coming." A wave of head and hand, And I am turning, though my stomach takes some time to settle, And it is a moment before I can see-yet another band. Again I snort, though this time for the stranger to hear. "Do you think I want to hear music that's not music, but noise? You must have me mistaken." Gone the last of my fear, And I want him to pay for using my emotions like toys. I think it is a man, but his laugh is almost female. "You have a better opinion of that music than it merits." But then my captor's hand bites down, the sharp clench of nail Making me mutter under my breath. He laughs, crisp as carrots. "I am sure that I do not need to tell you that you will not leave Until you have heard the music that my friends can play." I am not sure what he thinks those words will achieve, But I tense all my muscles, and manage to pull away. "I can leave whenever I like, thank you very much," I tell him in a voice nearly as crisp as his own. He laughs again, but does not try to resume the touch, And though I think he should, he takes no offense at my tone. "As you wish," he says, she says, gazing down into my eyes. "But I think that you should stay to listen to the first song. To leave now might be better, but not all that wise. Will you agree to stay? This one, at least, is not very long." I sigh, but he could have a knife for all I know, Or a gun, or some other weapon he knows how to handle. He sounds sincere when he tells me it will not be the whole show. I might as well stay there, rather than entering a tangle. I watch in quiet boredom as the band sets out their drums, And some other instruments I cannot make out in the dark. Then someone steps on the stage-no, several someones- And I feel a shock leap through me like a stinging spark. In God's name, if God exists, why do they have a harp? I have never seen anything like this in any other band. I glance at the stranger, but though his smile is sharp, He only shakes his head and holds up a restraining hand. A man sits behind the drums; at least I think it's a man. Others settle themselves slowly, and then a woman strides Out into the light around the harp, as if to prove she can. I see her well enough to tell the moment her hand glides Softly and shyly up the set of the shining strings, Lingering and touching, though it is a moment before sound Spills out into the darkness and beats sudden shining wings, Silencing the laughter, and making my friends stare around. I would have thought them so drunk that no music could reach them. For a moment, watching them, I think that I must have been wrong. But then I watch the music and the sharp sound almost bleach them Of color in their faces, and I know it's this song, This song that quiets the drunkards almost too fast to be real, That ripples out in expanding silence, like a rock in a pool When it creates the ripples across the still surface of teal. In moments, the room is rippled, different, silent and cool. The harpist appears unconscious of the rippling rings. She has begun almost to dance, though still her hand glides With swift practiced surety across the harp's strings. I cannot escape the feeling that she lets the instrument guide Her to heights of joy that I did not think a human felt. She closes her eyes, and I see the tears, her lolling head, As her hand continues to caress the harp like a soft pelt. For all the noise that she makes, she might as well be dead. But then a queer whining noise begins to rise from her throat, So startling that I shift and look longingly over at my friends It takes me a moment to recognize it as a song's opening note, And in that moment, everything that has been my world ends. The stage, the world, and the harpist are gone in a time so short That I have no time to notice when they decided to vanish. I am standing in some kind of flagstoned shining court, And I am struggling with fear that will not let me banish It. I raise my head, certain that I will see a white ceiling, Of some hospital room, perhaps in a psychotic ward. But what I do see when I look sends my senses reeling. Every ceiling when I was not looking-away they soared. I swallow, and stare up into the depths of a night sky Unmarked by a single moon, single planet, single pale star. But nevertheless, somehow, it is a bright sky. It takes me a moment to see what and where they are. Glimmering lights, flickering, more like the sun than the ball Of glittering lights that illuminated what I must think another place. They join together above me then, and I scream and almost fall. Light shadowless as lightning streams and plays across my face. There is a spiral pattern, above me turning and turning. I know it for a dance, though I could not tell you how. There is a spiral dance above me, burning and burning. I scramble up, only thinking I must somehow leave now. But the spiral coils, and I find I do not want to look away For fear that I might miss something, some vital clue, Though what the light might be key to, I cannot say. I am only certain that something will show me what to do. This is insane! I have always been one of the few rational ones In my group of friends-who chose who does not matter. I am not standing here beneath the light of a thousand spiral suns. I close my eyes, hoping that the illusion will shatter. Warmth, and greater light all about me! I open my eyes then, Only to find I am in the middle of the brilliant spiraling light. It has come down while I have been debating where and when, And now twines me about with fire, and will not take flight No matter how much I bat at it, how much I shout and scream. It winds all about me, in slow, sinuously writhing coils. I knew it before, but now I know this is a dream. What kind of light or fire smells like my mother's bath oils? I close my eyes, I try to hold my breath and run away. But the light only winds tighter, now grazing my skin. Before I can figure out the meaning of its intenser play, It grips me, and glows, and then it sinks within. Expanding vision, flung down a wild sudden tunnel Of rushing space with stars flying out to each side. I laugh, but the sound whirls away in a funnel Of lights that tag me it, and then dance away to hide. I spread my hands without opening my eyes to gaze At the playing light that has given me this vision. When I answer it, it dances happily and sashays All around me, gleeful as it awaits my decision. I answer. How can I not? This is a lifting away, More dramatic and fantastic than a flight to Mars. I am standing in the midst of power that turns night to day, And I am speeding through space on the wings of stars. Then my eyes fly open, and I am standing where I was, Just before the stranger, facing the stage where the band Is swinging into another song to the audience's applause. The harp and harpist are gone, and the stranger's hand. I swing to face the man-the woman-again, on fire with rage, Certain now that I must have been given some kind of drug. I let the fear that was in me earlier out of its cage, And seize the stranger's hand with a vicious single tug. "What did you do to me? I am going to tell the police!" My voice trembles, and tries its best to fly into shards. The stranger makes an abrupt movement to make me release Him or her. Both the dark gaze and the voice are hard. "If you would have tried before you went accusing, You would have seen that drugging was the last thing I did." I give him a scornful a glance-but it does seem I could be using Something that just below the surface of my soul is hid- Hardly knowing what I am doing, I reach out with one hand, Palm flat before me, as if to beckon someone or to claim Attention from my friends, or even from the band. But instead of doing either, I somehow summon flame. A single bright tendril of it is burning in my fingers, A single pure lock as golden as Goldilocks' hair. I blink; I close my eyes; I open them; it lingers, A flame that does not burn my skin, though it does heat the air. I turn my eyes, not knowing why, over to the stranger, And see that he-surely it is a man? -holds out a hand. I tense, fully aware that there could be some kind of danger. But instead he calls a flame to him, just as I can. In the silence of the darkness-the music's just sound- We gaze at each other, while something high and tragic Both at once hurts me, and the burning air all around Is filled with that sweet smell that I now know as magic.