I was asked to dance a story and this is what I danced.
She stopped breathing.
They denied us a stretcher.
We carried her.
They laughed.
They wouldn't open the morgue.
Pay.
Erica's braids.
The sun set.
I bathed.
She bathed.
The moon rose.
Christy's dress.
Sway.
They wouldn't let us in.
We laughed.
We carried him.
I was his stretcher.
He breathed.
The story of Lisanne's death and Ian's birth merged in my dance.
A year later, the stories still teach me.
With you,
Luisely
