by Paul Van Peenen

Start slowly, a baby step or two,
And work your way in,
This is not the hokey-pokey or a gavotte,
Nor is it a game, not exactly

This is you at the starting gate,
This is you standing at the cusp, 
This is you opening the door
And stepping into the light

And these are your feet, picking up
The rhythm, finding a groove,
A tap-tap-tap, a boogie

It doesn’t have to be graceful
Or precise, it doesn’t require
Impeccable technique or formal lessons

It doesn’t have to be a river dance
Or a ballet, you don’t have to slip
On a pair of magical red shoes

It’s not about art or life or death
It is, perhaps, about transcendence

And yes, there are pitfalls everywhere,
The carping and harping of the trolls
And haters with their competing agendas,
Never mind, ignore them

And whatever your bag—punk rock
Or paragliding, bocce ball or modular origami,
Astronomy or the martial arts go on,
Pull out that golden ticket—

The light is calling—

So tear off your diaper, lose the hairshirt
And the dog collar and let it rip,
Faster, faster, faster, until your feet blister,
Until the umbilical tether starts to fray,

You’re free to go pilgrim, make the most of it

Paul Van Peenen lives in Eugene Oregon and has had work published in Poetry Super Highway, Seattle Review, Woodcrest magazine, Autumn Sky and Literary Veganism among other venues.