Dora dances with tottering ease

Beside the spinet my father plays.

Old songs beat like nickels on the keys.

 

She spins, he pedals, his fingers seize

Self-taught octaves, skim on moonlit bays.

Dora dances with tottering ease

 

Hands on her hips.  A remembered breeze

Rocks in time the woody trunk she sways.

Old songs beat like nickels on the keys. . .

 

Raisins, almonds, a Jolson reprise. . .

From damask wing-chairs, white heads nod each phrase.

Dora dances with tottering ease

 

At twilight, held in parentheses

Of drapes half-drawn on the window bays.

Old songs beat like nickels on the keys. . .

 

A gauze man floats the flying trapeze.

Kitchen help quietly stack the trays.

Dora dances with tottering ease.

Old songs beat like nickels on the keys.

 

                                  

 

© Charlotte Mandel

in A Disc of Clear Water, Saturday Press

First appeared Iowa Review

 

 

 

 

 

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