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Aztec Dancers

Carol Muske-Dukes


My beautiful daughter flies through
The student newspaper office—then
Straight through a window onto the balcony:

Camera on her shoulder, bold,
Her bright hair a shout. I call
Out to her, but she is filming

The Aztec dancers below in the quad.
I can hear the drums, but can't see the
Green flashing quetzal feathers, jeweled

Pikes. She calls what she sees back
To me: birds, drums, shimmering breast-
Plates. Don't fall, I'd cry, if I could be

Heard, but I'm a sound below the
Sound of the drums, the cheering
Crowd. For one second she looks

Back at me, the camera still trained
On the quetzal shape below: Like
A great bird forming here! She shouts—

Closing, then opening her father's eyes.

 

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