There is a spot in my living room,
now home to the end of a soft blue couch,
that once was bare.
It was there we danced on New Year’s Eve
to a Mariah Carey song
I admitted to you always made me cry,
and by danced I mean
we stuck our socked feet firmly
to the old wooden floor
and swayed like December palm trees,
leaves laced together, rooted but light.
It was my favorite dance I’ve ever done.