Thunder of Blood
by Heather Saunders Estes
My daughter at three, twirled to songs,
loved to jump and shake,
exuberance in her smiles.
She stopped at ten,
I used to dance in my teens—
too fat, too embarrassed.
Easier to sit it out.
Still, I tapped my foot.
Twenty years later we are wiser.
We dance: contra, swing, hard rock, line.
As CEO I cheerfully started the dancing
at office holiday parties—
shake that booty,
then others joined me on the floor.
If I can do it, you can. I am in charge of me.
Your discomfort, your comparing bodies—
I laughingly don’t care anymore.
I am bird song at sunrise,
hail on the roof syncopation,
the moon’s waltz.