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The Dance

ISSUE:  Summer 2003
My wife is fiddling “Turkey in the Straw”
in softening summer light. As her feet
begin to shuffle of their own accord,
the air around her softens and the beat
takes hold. Music fills the round room she’s in.
It circles her figure, then spirals down
the stairs. As if summoned by her tune, wind
stirs to whirl its way over and around
the lilies blooming in our yard. Swaying
cherry and oak that shade our bed in late
afternoon lose themselves in her playing
too. Now the dance is rippling in one great
wave through the breath of every living thing
here. There is nothing left to do but sing.


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