her right foot crossing her left
in a daring twist. And sometimes
she tangos wall to wall across the room.
This makes her laugh.
She knows she isn’t graceful.
She shuts her eyes to mirrors
and any shiny surface. Years ago,
at a cousin’s wedding, someone whispered
in her ear, Dancing with you,
my God, dancing with you,
is like pushing around a piano.
And sometimes when she’s dancing fast,
can barely stop, doesn’t want to stop,
can’t catch her breath, feels very hot,
she gives herself a hug, a squeeze,
a spin, a dip so low her hair,
her short wispy hair seems to brush the floor,
it glides on the floor, it sweeps the floor.