Advice

Stay inside the lines
Stay inside the lines
I am thinking of McDowell
taking his new army of the Potomac
from Washington towards Centerville,
their first long march,
and how much he wanted them to be in two straight lines—
to be straight and disciplined and glorious
marching to his heart beat.
New uniforms, new at bearing arms
staying in their lines
and you can hear the frustration in his voice
as he writes
"They stopped at every moment to pick blackberries..."
"They would not keep in the ranks, order as much as you pleased."
They stopped to pick blackberries,
these innocent country boys,
the dark jewels of their childhoods
so familiar, so tart and sweet,
their fingers and their hands
stained
and perhaps even a bead of blood from thorns
to mock what came after.
I am glad they did it.
Glad they had that last sweet taste of boyhood
outside the lines.

Stay inside the lines
Stay inside the lines
I am thinking of ballet masters
who might echo McDowell
"They would not keep in the ranks,
order as much as you pleased..."
These beauties
who do their utmost to stay in their lines,
their bare arms
like swan's wings as they flank the Swan.
One arm out of place,
and the line is ruined.
They know this.
They want to be in their lines
but the discipline of it wears
and their grace can turn rigid,
and try as they might
it is hard to recapture
that heart-dancing
the graceless grace of a child
when they first felt joy.

Stay inside the lines
Stay inside the lines
I am thinking of a painter at four years old
and her glory in the color
and the pleasure of her pleasure
with no mind in the way
second guessing
doubting
but a freedom, like picking blackberries,
like spinning and twirling
outside of the lines
and how the old soldier wishes he could play again
the old woman to dance freely
and the mature painter wanting
to be again outside the lines.