The Fiddler Plays
My #17 for National Poetry Month
When the fiddler plays,
we dance the troika
plucking strings of memory
of those who came before,
opening doors we thought closed.
They grace the ground
and breathe in our stillness.
when the fiddler plays,
our roots grow wide,
until toes feel earth
pulling it up through veins
letting the ground cradle the heart once more.
copyright/all rights reserved Audrey Howitt 2015