The strength of woman is revealed again by little girls who,
with bee stings still showing baking-soda white on their dark bodies,
dance before us like calypso-colored swans.
The boys enter the pulsing place as if to a church,
sit down in silence, and watch in awe and wonder
the writhing rhythm of the dancers and the dance.
The dance is eternal. So too the wonder.
When I look at man, I see the lightning.
When I see woman, I hear the thunder.
Written July 26, 1996