Dance Like It Matters

My one chance to dance at a wedding—
To live up to the best of my part,
And me, with nothing to wear.
The skirt I had brought wasn’t fitting.
A clumsy, beige, wool-tweed
That made my hips look wide.
It was a bit big, yet it stifled my movement,
And I wanted to cry.
 
The bride came gracious and lending.
My good friend for many long years
Grinned voraciously, and handed
Me a small silk purse with a beaded shoulder strap.
The little red dress practically slinked out of it.
Barely anything there—
But the few threads were sequined and stunning,
And when I pulled it on,
A magical dreamlike quality covered me,
Like a cloud of gossamer gold.
I arabesqued in ahead of her,
Just as she had asked.
But she never followed.
Tragedy in mid-step had taken her
From a graven body
Into immortal life.

She died with no ring on her finger,
Like a bird without a cage.
And even with interesting offers,
And ties that bind being the rage,
Husbandry eluded the deft allurer—even in the end.
She bounded escarpments desperately—
By nimble steps of something like a whisper,
And some hidden hind feet on the winged escapee.

 
The dress hangs today in my closet.
I finger its webbed fringe lace
To remind me that this really happened,
And remember my sister’s face.
And sometimes I still dream about her,
And dance the aisle with her that night,
And see her bright smile, as she lingers awhile,
Then disappears in the mystical light.
 
There are things I’ve left out of this story—
Like the jealousy of the bridesmaids,
And how I let it affect me,
That I didn’t dance freely,
But cared about what they thought.
But I will tell you,
That if I had it to do over again,
I would dance like it matters,
Because it does, my friend,
It does.

-jenn long