I danced, a skin-bag of shattered glass.
Left weight-shift, right weight-shift, arm raise, big smile, shake shake shake with the bride.
The rest of me somewhere else.
Lying in a bed with a heavy quilt over my head.
Shake shake shake twirl.
Small plans to grieve, promises to myself, to cocoon for as long as, maybe forever.
Right foot left foot find the beat laugh laugh.
The glass shards shift and scrape and clang and gash with the rhythm of my hips.
I am not there. I am watching myself dance from somewhere outside my body. I am making a cup of evening tea in a quiet apartment. I am standing in front of the classroom bearing the weight of this grief. I am typing my dissertation with a pile of tissues in my trash. I am collapsing into my bed in sobs on early February nights.
Keep going just move my feet shake shake shake spin spin twirl laugh. I keep going.
I danced, a skin-bag of shattered glass.
