“After two years in dance, he takes little medication.”
— Justin Mitchell, (Biloxi, MS) Sun Herald

Pierson Feeney, sixth grade, couldn’t stand —
much less sit—still.
Couldn’t attend birthday parties without ADHD
kicking in.
Till one day mother Marsha saw him shuffle
his feet in some peculiar way, said,
Son, why don’t you learn to dance?

So he did: pas de deux, hip-hop, break-
jazz, ballroom tap toe splits, stuff
that ain’t even been invented yet.
“It’s like God said make use of all’s
inside you,” said Mom, and he did.

Now he stalks the classroom clock,
like one who knows time can be
friended if not totally tamed,
then busses down to Elaine
Kulick’s school of performing arts
where he’s not even strange.

If some punk claims only girls dance,
he turns in pity from those doomed
to wallflower away motionless lives
when they might’ve seized chance,
ripped loose roots, soared, danced.


for Ed Davis
The Way directed by Emilio Estevez
Gilead by Marilynne Robinson
Book of Hours by Rainer Maria Rilke