Dancers

by Ginger Beck

Late one night we wandered
into a crowded bar
filled with Spanish dancers.
We were the only white people
and you pulled me onto the dance floor
among the whirl of skirts and
nimble footwork of strangers.

Neither of us knew how to Salsa,
but we twisted our hips
and grinned like cats,
eyes squinting and laughing like
madness under the neon lights,
making up steps
as we went along.

You spun me around
and pulled me close
over and over.
You would kiss me,
push me back,
catch my hands,
spin me around
and pull me back
to kiss you again.

I thought I had never seen
a better dancer than you.

I’d never seen better dancers
than us.