Single years. Men mistook undulation for invitation. Slid their hands downward from my waist. I pushed them back up. They pressed their groins against my belly. I spun away––learned the rhythms of predator and prey.
Married. My husband taught me to fox trot . . . to follow. His hand caresses my back, coaxes me to spin.
A miracle, this dance. I'm led where ever I need to go.