with phlox in Pat’s garden
they sway in quiet concord
rooted in motion
dancing’s a vital sign of endless youth
even my grandmothers danced
one danced to accordianed polkas
corseted cantileverd bosom bouncing
the other jigged across her chicken yard
with handfuls of eggs having just left her hens
without yield, acting goofy for a camera
I once danced with abandon
to big-holed 45s
spun by a DJ, Jocko
who sent four-part doowop through my radio:
the Prisonaires the Cadillacs the Moonglows
When was the last time I danced with abandon?
How did I do that beautiful thing?
It’s best to dance with others, real gurus say
It’s lonely dancing with a mirror
leading and following in one motion,
thinking breaking it would be bad luck
our cats dance to deep cat vibrations always
alert as —cats
to music far beyond our ears:
cat dance music
Zorba knew. Have you seen
Quinn, the Greek, dance?
Felt life spring in rhythms?
Watched it prance on toes to a bouzouki
even in the clutch of despair?
Never forget how to dance
All innocents dance
Only the troubled are still
Jim Culleny; 10/26/2004