{ "componentChunkName": "component---src-templates-post-js", "path": "/literature/poetry/the-dance/", "result": {"data":{"post":{"id":"cG9zdDo2NzM=","excerpt":"

we did the dance /
\nyou know the one

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we did the dance
you know the one
where you stood with your knees bowed back against me
and your head toward the wall
bathing in your grandmother’s jumper
your shoulders round and rigid, hair falling
you woke and feared you could smell me on your cheek, i think
so you gave me the other cheek, lay sideways
drowning in the lavender knit, all knees
then rolled over to me in your sleep.

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—

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like a bee, quivering, on a tall and thin stem,
i’m waiting for you to land.
for the hum of cobwebbed wings
to stall

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—

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so we can trade, all this you see
for waking into mornings
of honeysuckled silence
and the sound of you sighing in cotton and down.
for watery sunlit dawns
as i watch your rib cage rise and fall
and listen to nothing but the sea bird’s call

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—

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i wanted to toe away in silence
and cover you in sky.
leave you sleeping in white linen
and never speak matters of the heart.

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\n\n \n \"Bealtaine\n \n
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Ruth Seavers

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Ruth Seavers is a twenty-nine year old baby writer living with her girlfriend in Dublin. A Media, Culture & Journalism graduate, she has a keen interest in all things pop culture of both high and low brow. She finds the dichotomy between both brows of particular interest. Fond of cheese.

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","title":"the dance","date":"February 24, 2021","issue_number":{"issueNumber":"Issue 1"},"featuredImage":null},"previous":{"uri":"/literature/poetry/arriving-at-night/","title":"Arriving at night"},"next":{"uri":"/literature/poetry/the-song-of-selection/","title":"The Song of Selection"}},"pageContext":{"id":"cG9zdDo2NzM=","previousPostId":"cG9zdDo2NzY=","nextPostId":"cG9zdDo2NzA="}}, "staticQueryHashes": ["3240029854","848497233"]}