Before I met you
(even before I met your dad)
I was a dancer.
I was too cool, leaping from chair to couch,
silhouetted by the basement light, arm handles, leg shapes,
battements and plies.
My room upstairs, a studio, for great percussive leaps
(causing the kitchen light to do its own jette’ )
Mom would inquire and I’d just smile and shrug;
practice, you see, is quite the private thing.
I still dance. Mostly while housecleaning. I slipslide and boogie to
Motown, doing a little cha-cha when I footmop the tile.
Cleo and I tango when she’s begging for treats,
And when Daisy comes to visit? A big and joyous
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
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