dancing 'til dark

Tracee breathes smoke from the Marlboro deep
into twenty-year old lungs. She presses back into
the damp wooden post, slideshow riffling. Shiny
metal trailer, 30 steps toe-to-toe wide, squats on
the edge of Urbana, poised like a silver bullet
pointing to nowhere.

Tracee, she remembers gazing through the small
rounded windows, breathing deep cool summer
night air. Sister Molly tugs at her gown, small hands
raised. Lifting her close, the sweet smell of baby
Molly fills Tracee’s nose and round and round they
whirl to songs Tracee hums as they dance.

"Front and center," Dusty croaks. Tracee shakes
off the day with a toss of her hair. The familiar
melody of moist night tunes hum along with the
creak of the wooden steps. Her nylon wrap falls
and Tracee breathes the hot yearning for a girl who
doesn't exist. Donning Molly's sweet scent like a
white lace dress and pearls, Tracee slips on a
smile and she dances.

© Cheri Paris Edwards 2007