Babs at the Dance

Last year, sitting in her room while Mama Barbara slept, I observed her stroke-ravaged body in motion in the November light and imagined her as a healthy young woman at a barn dance...

Dozy Babs; dreamy afternoon
Leaves dancing outside the window
Darting shadows and light take her into a 
Dream of hands reaching for hands; 
Dark encircling light; light grabbing hold of 
Darkness - glad handing it with a fierce smile and 
A force field a mile wide.
The square dance begins

The barn is filled with swirling skirts of turquoise, 
Browns, yellows and red
Sounds of boots to boot
Allemande left allemande right 
Perpetually falling in love hand over hand.

Night is sweaty. 
Barn feels too close
Out she goes into the cooler openness under 
Stars laughing 
Holding the hand of the most potentially perfect 
Partner, Bob.
Babs and Bob laughing together heads thrown
To the half moon- 
It and they 
On their way 
To being whole 

Oh, to be forever rising in love with this moment– 
Each and every moment 
Babs notes in the dream, I must remember this –     
That every moment is 
Infused with love if only we have ears to hear 
The music, and eyes to see beyond the Veil.
Is this dream a remembered moment from her 
Real life? It is now.

The dream continues with swirling skirts 
Flaring out and floating down 
To smaller vertical, cylindrical encirclings of 
Waists, hips and thighs 
Boots to boot bang emphatically on dusty wood as 
Sweat circles enlarge beneath muscular arms 
Encased in black, white, yellow and crimson 
Western shirt sleeves. 
White piping points - 
Exclamation points to the 
Perfect pectorals and bulging biceps

Babs has always loved the dance, has thrived on it 
More than food ‘til the stroke took half her body 
Into stillness...

Ah, but the parts that still move affirm life daily 
Knocking out the familiar rhythm that banged her 
And everyone else into existence.
In the dream, too, she remembers the dance and 
Begins to moan softly

She wakes to the sound of her own breathing, her 
Own heart beating in her ears. 
She opens her eyes 
Snorts. Smiles shyly. Sighs. Sees again 
Flickering shadow dance of leaves. 
Hand-shaped leaves waving to her  
Outside the window. 
Wisps of the dream paste smiling faces-
Glistening and fading around
One face 
Bob’s face 
Onto the window where they evaporate like 
Sweat stains fade when the heat has passed - as if 
Nothing happened. 
Only the salt lets us know there was passionate Movement. 

The Glorious, Passionate Movement of Life.