For Em: Dogdance

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
do-si-do.