Lola/Rollo

There's a triumvirate here, waiting to dance
Waiting for the train or the cab, for me,
Waiting for permission.

Old monikers, a Muse, and the grey street
Twirl the names Lola, then Rollo
Under the tongue.

Not who are we today, but what city
Are we when we travel, what news
Will mask our going on?

We are waiting to find the voice stitch
That knits the ink to the pepper
That seasons our steps.

We are waiting to dance--waiting to dance
With the wheels and the whiles,
To swirl seems and styles.

Sharing today with The Sunday Muse for The Muse #52. The cool prompt image this week takes me back to afternoons watching black & white movies while my mother or grandmother did housework (and tried to keep my brother and I in one place or at least from spreading ourselves around the Entire House)--the contrast between "the city" as intriguing in those shows and "the city" as something to be avoided in my nascent fantasy reading has stuck with me, a sense of bifurcation that sometimes pulls me to silence rather than creation. Also, who hasn't wanted to dance their way across blocks and buses and crowds?

-- Chrissa