Cutting A Rug

Dance Class

Bear down! I urge, bear down! Under my breath

beneath leaden skies of gross motor farce

lumbering bear on a chain, tasseled fez

a thimbled crown, symbol of gravity’s  

defiance, straining in my winter coat

to strike a pose on an upturned parfait

cup, nose thrust into the prevailing breeze

in a fruitless search for the beat, lurching

across vast parquet plains toward our big dance

number, your beauty unbearable, my

lost, aching heart shifting from paw to paw

in slow waltz time.   I recall our last dance

when you were nine or ten, Mahlathini

and the Mahotella Queens at the Ark

the floor in front of the stage packed, whirling

with your head thrown back, outstretched arms, eyes closed

a wedding in your future, a smitten

bear committing the night to memory.