A hundred years between us all.

We hum our lives and let feet fall.

She asks me if I know the moves

To jitterbug, the jump of youth,

And goes to teach me,

Hand-in-hand and spinning

Off the decades, wrinkles,

And arthritis. The symbols

Of her teeth begin to seem

Like thirty-two beauty queens,

Give or take, and they tell me

I’m lovely,

With rhythm and heart.

“It’s nice to meet you

After all these years.”

“The pleasure is all mine.

I’m sure, my dear.”