about to dance in santa fe
eons ago, before my teenage body morphed,
before i became self-conscious,
i loved to dance—all those middle-school dances,
always dancing with the wrong ones,
too shy to ask the right ones. still, i loved it.
high school—figuring it out. college—
too many woman swaying, white arms raised,
to the rhythm, a dance-drought for me,
until colin. colin knew all the places,
not the clubs, but the wineries and bars
that dot wine-country where you might find
a string quartet or line-dancing—
it's where i met marketa, no quicker way
to get to know someone than by dancing.
bars are opening, the music live,
a willingness to be among a crowd again.
a friend told me that you can never step
in the same river twice. if that's true,
will we have felt the shift, are we who we were
after a year suspended, after a life-hiatus?
wondering amounts to nothing. it's time to dance—
dance being what it is—a state of mind.
Poetry by one trick pony
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Written on 2021-05-26 at 01:02
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