Dance With My Father

Dark eyes twinkling,
he takes my hand and
tugs me from my seat of safety.
It’s always his style;
to be first on the dance floor
and, the truth is,
while other kids would balk at
the prospect of dancing with Dad,
it’s my favourite place
in the world
to be.

Warm hand on my back he
guides
me around the floor,
and the lessons he gave me—
from the time I first walked—
take over my body.
A foxtrot, a waltz, quickstep, and jive
his face so alive with joy, and
when they play rock’n’roll,
the room becomes ours,
other dancers make way,
and lightness and sun
shine
on the star that is
my Dad.

As I close my eyes and
bask in the memory,
I can feel his warmth and,
for a breathless moment,
he’s still here
holding me,
loving me,
laughing,
making me safe,
and, in that moment,
I have hope that
life might just be okay.

Author: chocotales

I am a writer who is passionate about words. I find them magical and seductive. I write short stories, poetry, and non fiction. I'm currently working on my first novel.

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