Shall We Dance?

Wise man says: In thunderstorm, mighty oak falls deafly on the ground while bending reeds defy the roars. Amidst rain, lilies are fed one last meal before they sing goodbye.

“Shall we dance?”

My right hand lay on top of his as we trotted back-and-forth at the floor. My limbs were numb, my hand felt dead as he gripped it, my legs heavy as he spun me around.

His mess of a hair tonight was waxed precariously, the shine gleaming off the ceiling. And as he dipped me low on the floor, I gazed into the haughty gaze of youth, unverbally signalling what it means to be defiant, what it means to be powerful, what it means ultimately to be in control.

He brought me and I shifted weights. As he led, pushing my knee a little bit backwards, I countered by a strong right forward. I popped my shoulders, twisted my arms. His eyebrows were confused.

And as I lead him down to the very center of the floor and dipped way lower, I smiled and whispered, “Shall we dance?”

With pressure, he pushed back and eventually was leading again, our feet a tangle, as we waltzed, tangoed, quickstepped, across the room, each one alternating as the lead, the dynamics of pushing and pulling and living passion.

Hours later, everyone had left. We were left slow dancing, my hand resting on his chest. I lay my head on his body as I feel the rough carress of his arms stretching around me.

We sway in silence.


This is the 100 Songs Project, a 100-day writing challenge based on AFI’s 100 Years…100 Songs. Every day, I write a short poem, prose piece, or play based on, reacting to, rejecting, accepting, or doing something related to one of the songs in the top 100 list.

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