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This writing was accepted for publication in the 108 page perfect-bound ISSN# / ISBN# issue/book “Invisible Ink” cc&d (v248) (the January / February 2014 Issue) You can also order this 6"x9" issue as a paperback book:

Order this writing in the book a New Pen the cc&d Jan. - June 2014 collection book		get the 394 page Jan. - June 2014 cc&d magazine issue collection 6" x 9" ISBN# paperback book:

Dancing in Blackness

Anthony Brazeau

It’s so quiet in here
there is nothing to hear,
nothing to hear but my scattered thoughts as they softly ricochet off
the glass walls of my mind
but, as my thoughts always do, they soon start to grow more encrypted
and they begin to move with more purpose and more motion
and they start to smack hard against the glass walls

they smack, smack again, smack harder
one more time and then a shatter,
then no more mind, just dust

a thin, shivering veil of silver dust
falls gently through the empty blackness

each particle of dust begins to spread out, far away,
far away from any other
and soon the blackness is dotted with many tiny, shiny specks
that resemble long dead stars,
stars that group together to create a new constellation

I trace the shape that the lines connecting the stars make
it is a figure, just one solid floating form:
the shadow of a woman who seems to be dancing all alone

dancing and sparkling up there, so far away,
but if I squint what I think are still my eyes
I can see the faint hint of eyelashes fluttering
and I can see the tight curve of a nose
an I can see the coupling of two thin lips, slightly parted, and twisted
into something that once was or still could be called a smile

a soft sound of a warm, intoxicating laugh languidly crawls around in the blackness
the sound comes from the dancers mouth

a quick end to the laughter brings about a penetrating silence,
a silence that makes the blackness grow blacker

after some seconds or minutes or hours or days
a whisper of a voice makes its way across the space that separates us,
it says, “Are you still there?”
I call, “Yes.” Should I say more, I think
but before I can add anything else
her voice cuts through the silence of my unsaid words:
“Want to dance with me?”
“Yes,” I call
and not knowing what to expect or why
I stick my hand up and out into the sky, and wait

I wait

suddenly I feel the most delicate hand I’ve ever felt
slide into my hand and grip it tight
and then pull me up to my feet

she is close to me now
I can see her clear face
and I can hear her clear voice as it asks:
“Ready?”
I shake my head, no


once again that warm laugh of hers

and before I know it
I become lost in a swirl
and then there’s nothing in the blackness
no me, no her, no us
just the fading sound of or forgotten feet
going tap, tap, tap
and scuff, scuff, scuff

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