84. Tango Trio

A ballroom floor, so dark;

not even the slick mirrored surface

reflects a pinpoint of starlight.

Three dancers night blind

to their delicate feet, only feeling

supple boots that caress their toes.

Partners gone or never come,

three women prepare to dance

their becoming into lithe being,

to tango with pencil, keyboard,

leaking pens trailing black vines

of revision and uncertainty.

At round tables, white paper orbs

filled with flames that echoes the music

illuminate those restless circling satellites,

an audience insatiable for blood,

drama or explosion, wanting every stroke

of rough graphite to annihilate boredom.

But it’s only tango, and three women

dancing as sinuously as they can,

with all the grace they have left

after their day scalps them,

minds raw and churning with ideas

they can’t trap in the Tupperware

they’re either filling or washing

or putting away, power swirling

around and out the stainless steel

kitchen sink, the stove burning

imagination to a lump of cinder,

work kidnapping their clave heartbeats,

lost on the long commute

as they listen to audio books

they could have written.

— Lorraine Achey

A life-long autodidact, Lorraine has studied subjects ranging from anatomy & physiology to Zimbabwean mbira. Poetry writing started with her sixth grade teacher’s encouragement, and has continued with varying success over the years. She also writes for her personal and business blogs, and recently sent her first poetry collection, Diner on Dark’s Last Corner in search of a publisher. Lorraine has lived quietly with the stark beauty of the prairie of southwest Missouri/southeast Kansas all her life, and shares her home with three dynamic “Diva Dogs.” She works as a massage therapist when she is not reading, writing, or grooming dogs.


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