The beat is steady, unsyncopated
The singing wordless, the melody minor.
The dances symbolic, ceremonial
The grass dance, the smoke dance,
The shawl dance, the blanket dance,
The jingle dress dance.
Each dance has a story.
Colorful regalia, feathers, beads, and bells
Leggings and breechcloths, moccasins, and shawls
The children dance and I watch.
I have watched them for years
As I have watched their parents.
At first tripping, awkward, unable to keep the beat
And now precise, expressive,
Having learned to contain youthful exuberance
With respect and dignity
They spin with the accented beat
They stop exactly when the music ends.
Lorna Coppola
Mastic
Coppola is a member of the Hampton Bays-based writing group Poets Rising — Ed.
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