Right Shoulder

Mendelsohn’s famous wedding march,

Was composed for Shakespeare’s

Midsummer Night’s Dream play.

And I performed it too on stage

After two months’ rehearsals.

Four days before the grande première

Demands the choreographer:

“Lysander, on the last cadence,

To lift in pose of shoulder-sit

Your Hermia, now, will you?”

He awakes and squawks, revolts in me:

No, I cannot! I know not!

Shoulder-shoulder-shouldersit?

Squeamish Parrot’s panic.

“On my right shoulder?” conceded I,

“My left one fears new poses”.

“Do as you please. But do it”

I breathed some courage

And with my partner

Attempted lifts for two-three times

For all four days that followed.

Time and again on “Maybe now”

I crashed on walls: internal cage,

The Parrot’s struggle for the reigns

Until the grande première

I still had never managed.

But, one thing, yes, I learnt

After so many tries:

even in case my shoulder-sit

might miserably fail,

my strength is such

that I can keep

my Hermia steady and safe.

“Nobody will die here!”

I said – in fact, decided.

I left it upon fortune and

Descended into dance.

My other-half-in-dance and I

Stood side by side on stage

With spacetime resonating

To Mendelsohn’s sweet rhythm.

And when the piece reached climax,

– such impetus inside me –

I let myself to fortune

And then this did occur:

A shoulder-sit so perfect!

No cages and no barriers,

Like spring’s first breeze caressing

Like fresh spring water’s song.

Three times repeat,

Three times succeed.

Deep bow, a loud applause.

Ascend back to fresh air.

~~

If “How did you succeed?” you ask,

How! will Parrot squawk.

I, how, I know not.

If you insist “What was it?”,

A squeak: Rightshouldersit!

His brand-new word.

Who taught him?

I admit: I know not.

And if you ask his whereabouts

During the three good shoulder-sits,

What fiendish schemes his evilness

Was cooking up meanwhile?

He shuts his beak conspicuously.

And I... I still know not.

“Were you together? Was he far?

Didn’t you keep an eye on him?”

No, no, no, no, no, it’s just

In the impetus I lost myself:

Of him, the Parrot, I forgot.

And that is all my secret.

~~~