Fancy free, feet loose
dancing on your shoes,
toddling till my toes could tap,
frying like bacon on the carpet,
sizzling away from the fleeting
summer days.
perfection in simple, uneven
steps.
***
Pulling hoodie strings down tight,
gifting one arm only hugs,
and pinky promises;
my swivel hips will stay in the living room.
How I fall in love watching you
spin, and dip,
twisting together into pretzels,
the way I can only imagine lovers do.
***
Spiraling through the danger zone,
we set the floor on fire with the family name.
I could have sautéed in victory,
dressed in gold from crown to blouse,
sporting purple satin pants that bruised the ego
of men who tried to demand I wear a dress.
I never thought not to believe,
there would never be anyone
to sashay in a moonlit kitchen with me
***
Now... my pen swirls and curls
over neat blue lines that reflect
the somberness in turns
I do not get to take
within shared space,
others wrapped in tangos
as my favorite songs play...
dance card empty...
everyone seems to have forgotten their pens.
About the Creator
Ellie Hoovs
Breathing life into the lost and broken. Writes to mend what fire couldn't destroy. Poetry stitched from ashes, longing, and stubborn hope.
My Poetry Collection DEMORTALIZING is out now!!!: https://a.co/d/5fqwmEb
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More stories from Ellie Hoovs and writers in Poets and other communities.
Day 19: July's Poetry Prompt Challenge
There’s a reason poets and dancers tend to gravitate toward each other - both are obsessed with timing, rhythm, emotion, and saying what cannot always be said in words. “Dance” as a poetry prompt taps into the physical and the metaphorical: movement as emotion, movement as memory, movement as resistance or release.
By Ellie HoovsExclusive • 6 months ago
Comments (1)
This is stunning, bittersweet and full of rhythm.