Here’s a poem, thanks to Jim Culleny of No Utopia, that tugs at the edges of my nostalgia for my ballroom dance days.

Fox Trot Fridays
Rita Dove

Thank the stars there’s a day
each week to tuck in
the grief, lift your pearls, and
stride brush stride
quick-quick with
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.