Outside the Body

We were dancing around in a circle

and bashing wooden spoons on saucepan lids;

we were twirling and spinning and whirling,

and sometimes, on purpose, doing small skids –

me, my little brother, my Dad (all kids!).

As my body kept the rhythm and pace,

and I still had the grin stuck on my face,

I found myself suddenly outside me

in a floaty, dreamy, delightful place:

watching it all from there, perfectly free.

Then, gradually, gasping and laughing, 

we faltered, wound down, and finally stopped.

Resuming my body, I slipped half in –

I realised later. At the time, flopped

happily breathless on a table topped

with my Dad’s dear pots of maidenhair fern

(on the back veranda, catching the sun)

I didn't know part of me was still out.

Decades later, a friend who was shaman
saw and restored that ethereal part.

Written for Outsider Art, day 26 of April Poetry Month at 'imaginary garden with real toads'. 

(Yes, true story.)