The Woman Who Couldn’t Stop Dancing . . .

even though she had been abandoned twice
in the middle of great passion,
she stood at the kitchen sink in rhinestone
jeans and a purple flannel shirt--she always
said she hated purple--in a floral apron,
swiping the dishes with a yellow sponge,
her red hair spiked and quivering
in the setting sun; through the window
she watched a parade of animals cross
the ridge halfway up the mountain:
a moose, a bear, a llama, a coyote,
a sheep, a Siamese cat, and the black dog
in the orange vest of a huntsman
shambling happily behind; a little tune
humming through her lips, her hips trembling
with joy as the teal sky darkened down
into a last green line on the horizon.

Anne Becker

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