Dancing in Perpetuity

When dancing
people say that women should follow the leader.
Her partner was a loss leader, it turns out,
and the floorboards echo only
the faint clicks of ghost-heels,
cha-cha-cha.
Solo, in the spotlight
counting in threes
to keep time
while tossing out
the dance card filled with names
that hang in the air like overripe peaches
on the branches of her outer limits.
She’s done with the dancing,
no steps and moves left,
done with the partners who can’t mind the beat.

Her younger-day phantoms form a circle,
she systematically peels away her clothes.
It’s only her now
and some smooth moves –
cha-cha-cha
to the song in her head.

Emeline, dance with me!

The music changes,
her hair not gray.
Anymore.
Life’s a party
and she is the
enthusiastic guest with the red stand-out shoes.
The men line the wall,
eager soldiers,
while she flashes her hips to the left,
arms to the right,
a sashay forward and they all bow to the fancy dancer.
Somebody tell me, who’s leading now?

Emeline, dance with me?

The floor is linoleum,
easy to clean,
and the shoes now are dirty pink slippers.
Still, she sways me,
and moves to music that no one can hear,
cha-cha-cha.
Arms never stop,
a woman’s feet in perpetual motion,
partners left in the dust,
the forever dance is about to end.

Anna Chinappi
2005