Isadora Duncan’s Fire
My mother played piano.
And I, Isadora, would dance.
When our house caught fire,
I mimicked the flames with the arch of my body.
My mother stared solidly into the blaze.
She leapt only once,
when the piano peeled away from its legs
and twanged into a crackled chord.
When the song ended,
curls of dust rose in adagio and followed my lead.
My spirit found its form in fire.
My dance ignited in sparks.
Now I spring past myself into your light.
I am your blink and your grasp
your leap up from the kitchen table,
the turn of your head to your lover’s voice.
My spirit is the static of your negligee
as the material clings.
I cling and you are lit.
Copyright © 2005 Kirsten Olson
On Leave
His black and efficiently small suitcase
is open on the dining room table.
He folds three pair of socks air force tight
and tucks them in.
Cigarette packs are layered
over boxers and white T-shirts.
He sits with his coffee and stares forward.
A one-eyed cat comes to have her ears pulled.
She purrs at him with her blind side,
jumps onto the table, crawls into his case
and curls herself tight.
The shower turns on in the bedroom.
It is his wife. The coffee is drained.
He drops the cat on the floor
and zips to leave.
At the door he yells, “Goodbye,”
to the woman still dripping in the bedroom.
Tanka for Two: Relationship
My father rides on
A bicycle built for two
Past mother’s garden.
He tips his hat towards her.
An empty seat follows him.
She is elbow deep
In mud and does not look up.
She is hoping for
Some green life to grow. She digs
Deeper and deeper. Nothing.
Copyright © 2005 Kirsten Olson
The 5 Train: from Borough Hall to Bowling Green
I have missed out on time.
The 4 has come and gone.
This 5 is packed.
I wedge my body between 2 elbows
and the door.
The deaf black boy cannot hear
Jamaica weaving out the radio.
If I sway out of sync with this ride,
The largest women will whisper,
“crazy, crazy” behind their bibles.
Men have giants and bulls
sitting on their heads.
They want me to move away.
Out of the way.
It’s this way
to town.
Copyright © 2005 Kirsten Olson
4 responses so far ↓
Kristina // September 26, 2006 at 12:37 pm
Isadora Duncan is my favorite poem and has been since 2000!
Kristina
Kirsten // September 26, 2006 at 3:03 pm
Kristina,
I am stunned! Thank you so much. You have made my day.
All the best,
Kirsten
Shayla // October 29, 2006 at 9:41 pm
Hey there! I’m a musical theatre major at Webster Conservatory, and I had to pick a poem to act out in a movement project. I picked Isadora Duncan’s Fire because I think it is so beautiful and the imagery is magnificent! I was wondering if you could give me some insight into what you were trying to accomplish with this poem.
Thanks so much and best of luck,
Shayla Spradley
Kirsten // October 30, 2006 at 9:07 am
Hi Shayla,
I’m so honored that you selected this poem for your class. Thank you! This poem was written as a character study while I was a theatre major at Stephens College. I majored in theatre and minored in creative writing. It is very exciting to me that this poem appeals to you as a theatre major. When I wrote this I was reading a biography about Isadora Duncan and the stories about her selling hats and watching her home burn spoke to me about the passion, determination, and creativity she carried with her throughout her life. I love learning more about passionate creative women and I consider her one of the most interesting in our history. She paved the way for the rest of us.
I hope your movement project was fantastic! Thank you!
Kirsten
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