The Ruckus, by Brittany Deininger

El Jaleo, by John Singer Sargent (USA) 1882

The Ruckus
 
I’m a bull, fist with horns, heel-stomp claiming 
the floor. Silk folds, fever-whipped 
 
by the goading muscle. A locomotive driven by heat,
I wheel, I fire, I steam. 
 
A palm gropes another palm percussive, clap 
of thunder, bent light, an elbow, sharp, thrust.  
 
I’m drunk off the smell of sweat, orchid, floor varnish, 
damp stucco, tobacco, pechuga mescal, 
 
spirit pulled through a bird carcass. Callused 
fingertips over sound holes seem to escort my flamenco 
 
when really, they hold a portal open. 
I channel what’s coming through. 
 
In El Jaleo, one hatless man, neck thrown back 
like a stork, mouth agape, thought he saw the firebird 
 
descend, obscure Pentecost in a tavern, ripping a seam, 
blowing the doors off. After long silence, I have my tongue. 
 
Brittany Deininger

Brittany Deininger, is a poet and educator. Art and dreams are her dipping cup into the unconscious where the good stuff speaks in images. She received an MFA in poetry from Sarah Lawrence College and an MA from The Seattle School of Theology and Psychology. Her work has appeared in On Being, EcoTheo Review and elsewhere. She lives in New York.