Doug Ramspeck

Night Dance

The girls wear their dead mother’s dresses.
Wear moonlight in their hair. And once

they wear a single black feather as the sky.
And so the days paralyze themselves,

and the years grow sluggish then forgetful.
And soon, a broken spine of morning

falls through a window. A penance made
of hard dirt or frozen snow come winter.

And still the dresses twirl amid the undergrowth,
dance shadowless, entangled. And the dresses say,

Here are my dark velocities. And sometimes
the girls close their eyes and hear the dresses

fanning out to make a shroud, and sometimes
their mother lifts her arms and turns.

Doug Ramspeck is the author of nine poetry collections, one collection of short stories, and a novella. His most recent book, Blur, received the Tenth Gate Prize. Individual poems have appeared in journals that include The Southern Review, Kenyon Review, Slate, and The Georgia Review. He is a three-time recipient of an Ohio Arts Council Individual Excellence Award.