Our Wild Hallelujahs

 
I would’ve danced with you, but I could not.
They never let me touch the polished floor,
and so my feet grew slow, my cheeks grew hot.
They never thought, how when they closed the door,
afraid I’d soil a woman’s heart and bed,
I’d never learn to sing, but in my head.
 
I aim to dance my hallelujahs now.
Just give my bones a chance and they’ll learn how.
 
My body never learned to shape the praise
that forms when bodies sway and arch while loving. 
My body never learned to sing the Grace
that only sings through ardent bodies moving.  
So who will help me now while I grow old,
and who will warm my legs now that they’re cold?
 
I aim to dance my hallelujahs now.
Come give my bones a chance. We’ll both learn how.
 
Come whirl to life with me. I might look strange,
but what you see is broken body singing.
And stretching muscle means extending range,
so if we look a little drunk, we’re only praying.
We’ll arch and spin and let our bodies shout
until we fall and dance floor lights go out.
 
We dance our wild hallelujahs now
and gracefully, while soul and bone know how.