In the reunions my mind choreographs
I’m wearing that new red dress
(which flatters my figure so well)
and dancing my heart out. My feet
whirl around the axis of my heart
in the balance and joy of my return
to the centre of my self, to my confidence.
Perhaps even dancing with my new lover
(who of course has none of the flaws
of my old one. And no flaws of his own either –
the way it is in all the best fantasies!)
Perhaps – but however gorgeous he is, it is
my own swift feet that bear me across the floor
with a sensual elegance (that in real life
they are still working on learning!).
And from the centre of that blissful spiral
I glimpse him again – that once-beloved,
half-forgotten face, watching, wistfully,
from the sidelines, seeing in a moment
the beauty and kindness and strength
of the woman he rejected. (Qualities that are
so vivid – how could he have failed to see them
even for a moment?). He sees what he threw away.
But knows it’s too late. And as I dance on
there is compassion for him in my heart
even as my skirt swirls red and bright
with my happiness for myself.
(and maybe it’s just a dream –
but it’s a good dream!)
The photo is