In Memory of Michael Jackson

Spun Wax

She took me to Hitsville so we could mourn together
the passage of what was gone forever,
for her a lullaby, for me a sultry slow dance.

We walked through yesteryear barely seeing
the sequined glove used to tilt a Moon Dancing hat,
antiquated microphones in musty little rooms

where I caught slivers of shadows flitting through -
she thought it was them, I knew it was you
taking one last turn on the round.

©2009 Peggy Eldridge-Love

Click here to listen to this poem on Youtube.

(In memory of my sister Hawice and Michael Jackson)