Dancing in Gramma’s Yard

A summer evening in Gramma’s gazebo.
She let me sleep on a cot.
No sisters about, my very own room,
with screens instead of walls
so the night could flow right through.

When all was silent except for crickets,
when everyone slept but me,
I crept out in pajamas to the warm night air.
The grass began to dance me.

In the cordial dark I whirled,
and felt an invitation
to throw off everything but skin.
Naked I danced in the summer night,
starry music lifting my limbs.

That summer evening in Gramma’s yard,
I knew myself as part of everything.
Tonight I feel it again
at the attentive age of seventy-six.
Time runs in every direction,
for I hear the crickets’ concert now.

©Susa Silvermarie 2023