true story about dancing

I once enrolled in
ballroom dancing classes. That
did not last so long.


True story.

Years ago, at an Arthur Murray dance studio, because I met a guy in a bar who was a teacher there and he offered me some free lessons.

I can’t for the life of me remember his name now, all these years later, but he was tall, blond, and gay. I think it was Casey.

I loved moving my body and spinning to music, tapping and twisting my way around the floor, and somehow convinced John to take classes with me.

I think we lasted two classes, and as much as he said (and I thought) he enjoyed it, he bowed out – gracefully, thankfully.

It cost a lot of money. It would have been a huge commitment.

He was never very good at commitment.



there is an entire
half of me
that I don’t know

that other biological side
that unknown order of
genes and mysterious
strings of DNA

things I don’t
understand about myself or
recognize in me
when I look in the mirror

this upturned nose
this dramatically low
resting temperature
as if I were meant
to be somewhere else
and maybe
someone else
or at least
someone else’s

I debate whether
I ever want to look
into the eyes that maybe
gave me these green eyes
or study whatever other
manner of inheritance 
that has gone unnoticed
or ignored

but mostly I want
someone to blame
for this darkness
inside of me

this emptiness
that I’ve never
managed to fill