The Blue Room

Set to music of the spirit house,
our faces masked in smoke
are beautiful, beautiful
and I still twirl
in a long white dress,
waltz across Texas:
time painted with
grace and tequila,
warm hand at the small of
my back,
the easy slide of our feet
cradled by boards
worn from the steps
of so many dancers:
He always said I looked
like Suzy Parker,
but I was never sure
who she was.

Copyright 2001 by Karen Thompson

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