The Dancer of Atlanta

[Jet]

Dance #43

...and then I stood in the cold and looked through the window.
I saw the merriment, the laughter and warm lights.
She had covered herself with a blanket of a finer life
of lawyering and connections and high handedness.

I wondered if she was really happy.

She must have been because anything less than
acceptable would not have complimented her southern sensibilities.

I watched and wondered what happened to the girl
who would have preferred wild flowers to wealth.

She would have loved and wanted an honest man.
And yet, I think not; my love had no reserve.

Then her partner embraced her before presenting her a gift—
a small, delicate porcelin replica of a geisha.

And they danced and celebrated all they had.

And somewhere hidden in the years or months or days
to come, something awaited, written in the annals
of time that, for me, there is recompense.

—The Dancer of Atlanta