A woman walks by the bench I'm sitting on with her dog that looks part Lab, part Buick, stops and asks if I would like to dance. I smile, tell her of course I do. We decide on a waltz that she begins to hum. We spin and sway across the street in between parked cars and I can tell she realizes she chose a man who understands the rhythm of sand, the boundaries of thought. We glide and Fred and Ginger might come to mind or a breeze filled with the scent of flowers of your choice. Coffee stops flowing as a waitress stares out the window of a diner while I lead my partner back across the street. When we come to the end of our dance, we compliment each other and to repay the favor I tell her to be careful since the world comes to an end three blocks to the east of where we stand. Then I remind her as long as there is a '59 Cadillac parked somewhere in a backyard between here and Boise she will dance again. As she leaves content with her dog, its tail wagging like gossip, I am convinced now more than ever that I once held hundreds of roses in my hands the first time I cut open a pomegranate. Copyright © 2017 Kevin Pilkington. Used with permission of the author. |
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