It'll be Mondays instead, but -- foxtrot and tango, bachata and merengue, cha cha cha! Dance night the first went swimmingly. Big half-empty ballroom, Anastasia in her three-inch heels and snow falling all the while. (Revelations: Sidney is a natural; I have hips [who knew?]; and the Center for the Arts has more than one entrance.) Practicing this morning, I beat poundcake batter to last night's music in this morning's sunshine.

Fox Trot Fridays

Thank the stars there’s a day
each week to tuck in

the grief, lift your pearls, and
stride brush stride

quick-quick with a
heel-ball-toe. Smooth

as Nat King Cole’s
slow satin smile,

easy as taking
one day at a time:

one man and
one woman,

rib to rib,
with no heartbreak in sight—

just the sweep of paradise
and the space of a song

to count all the wonders in it.

-- Rita Dove