Nine Ladies Dancing
Slowly, like music box dolls, we turn on the spot. Feeling small I close the gap between us, hoping a change will make me seem bigger, more, enough. Cheek to my love’s chest, I hear a heart beating in time with the record player’s tune.
The dance floor is full. The dance floor is empty. I don’t know. My eyes are closed. Flickering, they visit – all masked – parodies of me, these women who dance through my body and are gone. They dance on.
My love has given me another chance. I am a cat with nine lives and this is my last.
|Photo credit: Tilemahos Efthimiadis via Flickr|