Stepdance

With speedy, gutsy ease her Irish father rolls up the front room rug Gaelic music lathers the air in merriment Nelligen at 8, composed snags our attention in hard shoe clicking her rapid, intricate footwork its drumming effect, a heart pulsating Nell's rigid torso that trails upward to white-blond hair bouncing, catching light like weightless feathers Small feet in black hard shoes tapping from toes to heels Image fixed in place like her pale rose-bud skin Up against the wall, I mimic her movements My feet a tangled jigsaw She laughs, kisses my cheek, tousles my hair like tufts of grass At 9, I want to go to her, to cradle her state of grace for however long we are children The suddenness of age frames our winter A peer backwards through a series of lenses to stitched moments that slide in memory foot taps through our rooms I know full well that I am responsible for my own mis-steps for sitting out her dances for never solving most puzzles even when I pull back from now Poem composed: June 13, 2021