My legs move fast
my feet still remember
Mama ran away.
The Charleston ends
my feet, still
I plunk a new recording on Victor Victrola
plant the needle in the grove
turn the crank.
My feet move again
green and yellow squares of rug
I spin, braid pinging from one shoulder
to the next
like two different suitors
tapping my shoulder
asking to be my dance partner.
Like a wild mushroom,
my skirt puffs
the swoosh of movement says,
“Everything will be alright again.”
I squint to believe.
That religion tells me not to dance
in that country? Not a chance.
But I find the movement so entrancing
Nothing quashes me from dancing.
“Dance me to your beauty with a burning violin
Dance me through the panic ’til I’m gathered safely in
Lift me like an olive branch and be my homeward dove
Dance me to the end of love
Dance me to the end of love”
– Leonard Cohen
painting by CD-W
daily word prompt: via Dancing
Small town Mississippi
visitin’ a friend
stayin’ in a shotgun house
tilted on one end
Main Street short
light’nin’ bugs flicker
with their own torch song
Blues man playin’
me ‘an cook staff laughin’
holding’ our bellies
at this white girl dancin’
White girl dancin’
White folk glarin’
Happy don’t care
jus’ keep on starin’
The moon over Memphis, looks down at me.
She shines on a river that drifts out to sea.
I can tell by her glow, what she’s trying to say,
“Please have this first dance with me.”
and we go one, two, three, one, two, three…
painting by me
The moon over Memphis is dancing with me,
We shine on a river that drifts out to see,
She can tell by my glow what I’m trying to say,
“Please have this last dance with me.”
And we go, one, two, three, one, two, three …
(A song I wrote a while back)