Women Who Think Too Much by Jeanne Marie
Dance With Me Woman
He yanks the crippled woman
Out onto the slick dance floor.
As he stumbles over her heart, he asks,
“Don’t you like to dance anymore?”
Her brown eyes vacant, not unlike a corpse
She silently gazes up at his handsome face.
Her words are lodged in her throat
Obstructed by injuries that time can’t erase.
There’s no crazy glue that’d bind her
Or mend her tattered faith
She’s just a fragment of herself
So, they waltz, standing in place.
by Jeanne Marie