We dance.
And even with my eyes closed I know the steps by heart.
One two three. One two three.
You wrestle them through tubbers and Moma soap. I tuck gangly legs and chubby thighs into pajama bottoms and night dresses and tuck them bed in a house they have slept in since they were born.
We two step in the kitchen, over the laundry, past the rows of photos framing the beat, the rhyme, the rhythm to this last six and a half years. In sync. Swaying with the tired and the weekend and the preparation for Monday.
And I love you. I love this melody we make together in this house that Erin wishes had more stairs. Music lives in this space.
And you can sing me anything. I choose your song over Christmas music, frequent flier miles, and Diana Krawl every day, every year that ticks by. And there’s an orchestra that plays in the living room between the couches that cost us so much more than money and the toys that sprawl at its feet.
We dance.
My hand in yours even on the nights when I beat your chest and ask all the Whys? that have no answer and lie in the dark and listen to us both breathing as we have since our first dance. And we sleep the ordinary peace of the extraordinary choice we have made. Tomorrow when the sun comes up we will slip back into our steps with your hand at my back, guiding me through the daily mess.
There is only one dance.
And you are my only and forever partner
