— For JM

​

The chablis on your breath

could make a small boy dizzy

but I hung on like death:

such waltzing was not easy.

 

We, together count

the dactylic meter

ONE-two-three

ONE-two-three.

 

You promised women would be impressed

for knowing how to do this,

so I hung on like death

and tracked the timing of my steps.

 

You showed me where to place my hands

and how to dance on tippy-toes

and how to give commands

to control where the dancing goes.

 

We swayed around the kitchen

in a dance of tenderness,

parenting through addiction

with the footwork of strength and softness.

 

Elegantly our feet together tread

and after all the silly pricing,

I head off to bed.

I’m learning more than dancing.