Fanciful

Small Winter Poem 10 | Dance parties

“How are your babies?” I asked, to him with the little girls.

“Nell,” he sighed and looked at me, “I swear that every night she looks at me and asks, ‘Can we have a dance party?’…So we do…every night’.”

I laughed too.

Because I don’t ask anymore. I’m too old.

I just decide.

Dance party. Every night. I’m an adult and I don’t need your permission to turn on music and let loose.

Dance party of one.
Living room.
Let’s go.

 

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