Kitchen Dancing

 
The radio played oldies all the time,
Beach Boys
Beatles,
Rolling Stones,
and Elvis,  
the music weaving the past into the present
coaxing the fabric of our shared life
into a safety net.
 
After dinner the kids watched their half hour of TV,
reruns  of Happy Days
and The Brady Bunch 
then they would run around 
like jungle-raised animals
 creating a rumpus in the rumpus room.
 
On a good night
you’d  wander into the kitchen
catch me at the sink,
spin me around
soapy hands and all,
and dance me back
 to that  smoke-filled hangout
where we listened to “Be My Baby”
sipping beer,
tasting and touching the only future
 our dreams could conjure ,
 far from dishes stacked on the counter
mashed potatoes drying into glue. 
 
We tried but we  never could quite maneuver  
around a  splayed out retriever  
tail flapping on the floor,
and soon we were discovered, 
“Ew!” “They’re dancing again!”
 the baby  jockeying for a spot 
 the dance becoming
a toddler sandwich,
you and I the bread.
 
When darkness arrived
and  the fabric ripped and tore,
we had to dance faster
the music turned to frenzy,
louder and louder until
we saw, finally,
that we were never the Brady Bunch,
oh no,
we never had Alice to do the dishes,
or all those perfect kids,
but we always  had kitchen dancing.
 
 
 
  
©WabiSabi 2012
 
Linked with Poets United 
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27 thoughts on “Kitchen Dancing

  1. I read this before but am happy to read it again. I love how the kitchen filled and how the dance went faster after the tearing–and, despite the family not being mythic, its dancing feels mythic to me.

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    1. I thought this poem would be darker than it ended up to be. Sometimes we learn from our muse what the truth of a thing was. Then again the darkness came a bit later and perhaps the muse is just warming up!

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  2. Oh, I loved this… It tickles my heart. I liked the line “tasting and touching the only future
    our dreams could conjure” and yet, the reality that became was poignant and sweet.

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  3. enjoywriting

    I remember kitchen dancing with great fondness. As others have said previously, your words have weaved a memory quilt and the patches are made out of the things which made/make life special. For some of us, they are now but memories and the quilt has become a little tattered…..and yet to reminisce still has a Brady Bunch quality about it.

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  4. I meant to type more…the above lines are fantastically clever and creative, combining several concepts into such cohesive writing. Weaving and fabric and time and life and feeling…

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  5. This is beautiful–loved the details contained in lines like “mashed potatoes drying into glue” as well as the overall picture you painted. My parents always danced in the kitchen as well! Thank you so much for following my blog! 😀

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