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
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