The floor is a snare drum
catching wallflowers.
The soles of a hundred feet conjure a chorus
Stirring amnesial visions in every fleeting phrase.
It begins
in a
staggered sway.
Awkward.
A…
An…
A…
An invitation to dance.
Hand brushed
lightly
into another,
a boy’s laughter tumbling from his throat
as he spins a her – cheeks, coral blush
Her skirt flares, a banner of airborne delight
where joy is the anthem
and movement its creed.
Fiddle string and heel-clack
banjo snap and eager palms
spool from the taped track
the sanctuary inhales the music
and breathes it back as echoes.
Faster now
a flicker, a surge,
footfalls quicken,
bodies collide,
5,6,7,8…
the whole hall rises with it.
Warm air brims with sweat and leather,
a wide brimmed hat falls to the floor,
something sweet spun from laughter’s heat,
like farm wind,
fruit undone beneath a dancing boot-heel,
crisp and burnished under a generous sun.
Hands catch at hands,
sleeves murmur by,
a fleeting hitch in the chest
but no pause for reflection, no time for words.
Turn, reel, pass the partner down the line,
the world on its side
like a wheel unfastened,
the music its unrelenting hinge.
A boy in rolled-up sleeves
finds the girl with honey-brown hair
for a flutter of heartbeats they’re all and only,
fingertips sheen as aura,
feet tapping out secrets in the settled silt.
Then lost again
like a bead of water shaken from grass,
shed off by the wind’s turning.
The fiddler’s grin flickers in the track
a captured spark, an undercurrent
thrumming through wires instead of strings.
Yet the pace still doubles, triples
a flame fed by phantom cords-
crackling ever upward, undeterred.
A holler breaks loose,
pure, wordless exaltation pitched
Into plain white paint above,
stained by sound
contrail of vibrations
in the pauses of the hall.
Those who know the steps lead-
the novices slip, laugh,
learn by living,
the dance taking all in stride.
The floor heaves and breathes,
a beast of many hooves,
thunder caged by four walls
and a barn door flung wide
to let the evening peer inside.
Foreheads gleam, shoulders glisten,
but halting now is unthinkable
the music has slid beneath the skin,
lodged in muscle,
woven into secret vestiges
where vapor meets bone.
The sound grows gentle
slows, deepens
like the current turning tranquil after rapids,
the pull of something burnished and far.
A waltz unfurls, candle-gleam subtle.
A girl with sunburned cheeks folds into an arm,
gasp still broken from the reel,
Unseen finger to lips
afterglow.
For a moment,
the skirts muted scuff on ceramic,
a muted scrape of heel,
a careful hand settled lightly
as though too firm a press
would scatter whatever magic lingers
between one note and the next.
And then
the beata return, bright as new brass, like
trumpets calling the bleeding brink of morning.
Dancing surges, the floor a tongue drum,
laughter vaults,
hands catch,
skirts flare
and the sanctuary reclaims its own.
Note for the reader:
Amnesial adj. – Evoking memories that feel distant, half-remembered, or lost in the haze of time; resembling the sensation of recalling something just beyond reach, often triggered by sensory experiences.
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