This one is for you, Rachel.
Dimly lit bar, candles, cheap glassware, stages with poles
Clothing falls to the floor for a dollar a song
But wait, there's something different here
Yes, she's attractive
Yes, she's performing the ritual for the masses
She's making a living after all
But look what's different, see what's unique
She's not just prancing about up there
Showing what God gave her.
She's dancing.
She's really dancing.
Listen to the music
It's not AC/DC, Nelly or some thumping, noisy thing
It's a single, angelic child's voice
Now it's a chorus of innocence, growing in power
Classical? Catholic? It's my new religion anyway.
Watch her dance
The anguish, the sorrow, the torment
The pitiful raglike coverings falling to reveal the natural beauty beneath
An angelic butterfly from a gothic cocoon.
And the revealed beauty is another level of art
Mermaids, dragons and fairies dance on her skin
The room stands transfixed, cheap drinks forgotten, all attention on the woman
The stage is her pulpit, the pole her cross, her body her canvas
There are men up front tipping a dollar a song
(There are always men up front tipping a dollar a song)
But there are women tipping too
And a man from three rows back, another from the wings
We are in the presence of something special.
In the back of the room
A woman stands alone with a tear in her eye
The artist's mother, here in this den for the first time
She slowly turns to me with a single quivering phrase:
"She's so beautiful."