Over a year later, my knee’s still not the same, but I find myself dancing anyway, in normal/weird places mostly subdued because well because that joint tenses up.
Insert something poignant about passion and pain, vulnerability, fear of further injury, but I can’t lie. I don’t like attention from passersby, post-improv dark of night, we’re all a little otherworldly. No, I don’t want a ride. Thank you very much, but it’s one of my favorite things, walk rocking out the way I danced in, even if pulling most my punch and judys.
Bundled up buzzed with earbuds and ice breath, I slide-step-stamp a crooked path and know I can’t hide.
Stars wink. The moon is a swollen eye.