dance with me
The music moves and my body follows. The guitar is strummed and my arm moves up, a voice rings out and my foot moves forward. My body becomes an instrument in itself, louder than sound.
The music is Cuban and exotic, and releases foreign movements from my body. This tired body, sick and worn, dances with strength, and muscles long forgotten come back to life.
Tonight in the village there was music and flamingo dancers. Guitars were strummed with gentle fingers, while men’s voices poured through the air like sangria. They sat in a row, all dark haired, one grey haired, with olive coloured faces and black clothing. A female dancer moved her skirt violently and flung her arms like a Spanish bullfighter. And although she wasn’t especially beautiful, her movements made her the sexiest woman there that night. When her male partner joined her, and the two quarreled around each other in dance, my body fell back in love. Not with a boy or a flamingo dancer, but with movement. Move your body and move on, I thought.
Back at the house the Cuban music came on, and I danced with a beautiful friend from home, Aimee, who arrived today from England. We both share a love for dance, and it’s not unusual that we find ourselves dancing in any open space together.
I never danced with the one I sulk over. There were times I was tempted, but something always held me back. The night he tried to dance with me I was laughing too hard to move.
But the truth is, I've always danced better on my own.
The music is Cuban and exotic, and releases foreign movements from my body. This tired body, sick and worn, dances with strength, and muscles long forgotten come back to life.
Tonight in the village there was music and flamingo dancers. Guitars were strummed with gentle fingers, while men’s voices poured through the air like sangria. They sat in a row, all dark haired, one grey haired, with olive coloured faces and black clothing. A female dancer moved her skirt violently and flung her arms like a Spanish bullfighter. And although she wasn’t especially beautiful, her movements made her the sexiest woman there that night. When her male partner joined her, and the two quarreled around each other in dance, my body fell back in love. Not with a boy or a flamingo dancer, but with movement. Move your body and move on, I thought.
Back at the house the Cuban music came on, and I danced with a beautiful friend from home, Aimee, who arrived today from England. We both share a love for dance, and it’s not unusual that we find ourselves dancing in any open space together.
I never danced with the one I sulk over. There were times I was tempted, but something always held me back. The night he tried to dance with me I was laughing too hard to move.
But the truth is, I've always danced better on my own.
posted by Gillian Young at 3:40 PM
2 Comments:
You write like a pro and I can tell you're passionate about dancing.. your writing is fabulous!!
Your beauty never ceases to amaze me, Gill. Someone so beautiful on the outside, whose inside shines just as brilliantly. Your rare-ness (if this is a word)is so much appreciated...
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