à Mary
Ellen,
Omni me
tangere
Contrary
to the delicate flower
who
dies
if a
rude hand touches it.
Contrary to
HE who was sent to this world
and could
not be touched,
NOLI
ME TANGERE
We
dancers
need
to be touched constantly.
Touch me and
I will dance you.
Touch me and
I will make your heart sing.
Touch me and
I will touch you;
OMNI ME TANGERE
Delight
and fury
Forget Boston
and the jasmine tea party.
The heady
fragrance of Mary Ellen is what attracted me.
Forget paul
Revere, Harvard and the Midnight Ride on the T.
The dancer
I came to see and study with is no other than Mary E.
Forget the
jewels in the museums,
the parks
or the famous basement of that city.
There is a
priceless emerald in the necklace
inscribed
with the letters: M.E.
Locked in
my arms, close to my center, it cuts sharply.
It concentrate
more light in our dance
that was ever
shined on me before.
Feeding on
that energy,
I suddenly
feel the presence of a dark cat
with
and muscular
thighs,
moving in
circles around my core.
A wild cat,
a stealthed
panther,
ensnares my
heart,
oppresses
it
and devours
it
with delight
and fury.
I nearly died,
and left
disheartened
Boston city.
