DANCE CURE

When you are bitten
by the black wolf spider
and feel it still upon your back,
remember the tarantella.

Grab the tambourine --
you must have hands for this;
if you are temporarily handless
from your long journey
ask a friend, a good friend
whether she can lend her strength
to bleed on the skin of the drum
for the dance is wild,
feet pounding earth red
in the black starless night --
and whirl in a trance
until dawn again brings shadows.

And in that early light
see shreds of an old web
that can no longer bind you.
Gather them in memory,
honor them in fire,
walk into the day.

Poem "Dance Cure" © Gabriella Miotto

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